Summer 2004

Summer 2004

Chris Crittenden LEO OF THE ROSE are roses lions? they have manes, they have claws, they have eyes that dominate a quivering life. they taste blood that spilled into the earth and slowly worked its way up into their drippy mouths. “death comes back around,” they growl, stalking in the wind. when someone snips them and puts them in crystal, they have caught their favorite prey. bees are hors d’oeuvres. storms a libation. now come the human gazelles with fancy lopes and gawking necks, their throats plump with sound- flighty words that crumple into tears much sweeter than rain. every petal laps the emotional succulence. every thorn lunges into a heart that cowers under thread. and as it’s always been the herd flees, leaving the victim to be devoured by roses.

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