SONNET
The bridal white of Everest’s lonely peak
has felt the weight of men’s ascending tread,
and captured some, descending slow and weak,
and wrapped them close in cold, forever dead.
The
Brian Kohl
NAPTIME
I am twin-horned, big-hooved and dewlapped;
also thick-kneed and sway-haunched.
I wander past the couch and slump
as Sleep the Stunbolt Gun
punches metal rod through brindled hide.
Slumber the Anesthetist
ensures that