Cackling taps the shoes
of passersby. Heading forward the
laughs unheard spread open a shell.
Remnants of brown shards perpetuating
gluttony. If only a glass still half full–
better to be in-joy later. Ravished and
nothing remains. A small cup of wine lapped
out of like a trough. A-mazed through
continuity. Spun–trapped– wishing
to be devoured. Shelob never comes.
Sauron long gone. The boy’s pincer
takes arms. His sword eternally
radiating blue. Hoping
never to use and for
it to rust with dew.