By Chris Toll
I call my sickness the Guest.
The Guest will speak now.
On the steps of the Winter Palace,
the guards turned
and fired their carbines
at the Reptilian Overlords.
I used to be the King of Hell.
The Overmind of a praying mantis
loves your Higher Self.
A robin retires from a branch
and resumes his Intransigent Grace.
Jessica the Christ will have miracles
crackling through Her fingertips.
The ache in my heart lets me know you exist.
Clutching at Straws 
Chris, Chris, Chris – another memorable piece. Your every poem makes me grow new neurons.