this poem is all a
-flutter, a-mutter
-ment of swallowed moon
and muddled sun.
she’s one (i am
-bic) foot in, three
(blank) sheets
to the wind
and counting.
she’s a fountain of be
-wild
-erment, a copper sun
rise penny spent
on dandelion wishes
with fluff-fine handles.
{bring candles.}
she’s throwing a surprise
party of balloons, baboons
and cheese on rye. with cake.
she’ll take you somewhere
stunned and startled
dashed and dartled
stirred and shaken
(this end)
up.
she’ll fill your cup with rum
-bled phrase, a haze of days
astonished. the amaze of star
-stung sky. a hula hoop of moon.
a swoon of time.
the conga line
forms to the left, bereft of all
but glee. she’s leading
(the fray)
the way with a sigh that says
follow me.
::
In April, she poems. This one is probably the last.