Lull
Sandra MeekHush grunt, hush muck-flush lungs
Hush guts, unspun; hush skull,
sprung
Thumbs gun-numb,
buzz-stung,
brush unfurls us
fur’s musk. Such clubs-
flush luck, such full-
cups’ glut
musts duck hunts, justs
culls, bucks truck-slung,
strung. Glut,
sun’s burn’ll turn us
dust: bull. Hush,
u. Kudzu’s murmur
trumps rust’s mum,
curls dumps’ junk—lugnuts-
burstjugs-burntbushulls—
lush. Up-bluff, church
lunch—spuds, chuck,
punch. Bugs’ churn
wrung, Truth’s sum’s
sung: Sun, U null
sulfur’s chuff; Ur bush
burns but buds, full
thrum—Sun, U pluck
us, U gut us; Sun,
unshun us: burn
us lush.
December Decree (Secret)
Sandra MeekEsteemed Gentlemen, well-versed Reverends, feted
new Elect—Here’s the scheme: we’ll nether the
best; wedge
the rest. There’s precedent here: the settled West, streets
we’ve needle-strewn kettle-deep; tenements
we felled, resplendent new dens we there
erected. Let the press delve deeper, ferret the news;
let the seers “express themselves.” The dregs
we swept—let them keep the crèches, the steepled
temples, the sleeved serpents’ velvet speech. The sheep
revere the shepherds, yes? Let them sleep.
Whether rebels mewl, vent, beset the streets, the fervent
herd’s credence renders them screech. Tell them,
except we be the trees, the shelterbelt, the yews’
screen hedged
between breezes we’ve fledged, they’ll be defenseless.
Present them the desert Reserves. The sewers
we’ve brewed them. Resettle them. Except the
Help; them,
heel. Tell them: Dress the hen. Fetch dessert. Hem
the bedsheets, press them even. Segmented, then,
they’ll need
referees; hence, we’ll steer. Lest they be wrench, we
need clench
the wheel. Whenever we teeter, Gentlemen,
remember they’re
Jezebels, engendered beef. Eyes peeled: they’re
tenderfeet, even
the cleverest—yet revenge ever pends. Lest we be next:
screw them.