Clinks of glasses and chit chat filled the room like syrup
Schneebeck and I were admiring Mrs. Deena’s Matisse
While our gracious hostess,
Complimented Mrs. Lazlow on her gown

That’s when he entered
With grape eyeballs he snared at our accosting glances and tripped upon the floor
His appendages bricking through party air

A haunting scream, a barreling echo, the sound of a vacuumed train
The vase shards lay in pieces abound his bulging skull
Mrs. Deena dropped her martini, as we watched and waited
He bit the floor and snorted glass
Ears coughing smoke like a steam engine
Tongue out and dripping
Us, motionless

Our most brave hostess offered her services
But was torpedoed into the fireplace
Waterfalls of gush expelling from her carcass
As his teeth curved and brow cracked

Shredding carpet with fingertips
He elevated to his feet
His arms long like piano keys, his back hunched like concentrated air
Watching, breathing, thinking

Then, Maxwell threw a hardback at him.
A cherry groan led his figure into a body hurricane
Arms twisting and turning in impossible directions, spine deceptively protruding
If I believed in the devil, he would dance like this

Suddenly, stiff as a board,
He stared like a startled sodomite
With a tin-can crashing roar, he sliced into Jeffrey, galloping far wall to contour

As shatters and sirens brimmed
We knew. . .

This gala was not for us