He was a very good hater.   -Samuel Johnson

Mad, really,
this notion of hanging
one’s hat one place
and calling it home.

He’d rather roam;
loathes all things sane
and safe and known.

Give him a storm
cloud, no umbrella.
Give him a trail with
no map. Give him a
quiet life to abhor,
no more.

Hold him as
close as possible to
the sun and see what



prompted by Quickly.

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4 Responses to Haber-dash-ery

  1. Kir Piccini says:

    This was excellent and effortless…or at least it felt that way.
    I love your poems, this one is a new favorite.

  2. Shawna says:


  3. Of whom was Samuel speaking? Perhaps he just needs therapy… let’s not throw him in front of the sun quite yet!

  4. Susan says:

    More than his hat, I take it … perhaps his perspective, perhaps his wings.

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