Shake your heads, you Medusa clones

let the ground crawl with snakes

as a scarlet dawn echoes its derision

at your negativity.

Levitate and float through summer

like tethered party balloons

unable to grasp the knife

and cut the strings.

Mourn the dead at sunset

though the ashes are still warm

in the colored urns

standing in a row to be kilned

when the mountain erupts.