This poem has straight
dark hair and ponytails
and idle dimples. It’s simple,
really: just add a few monks chanting
in {prig}Latin, a satin stir
-fry of peppers and mush
-rooms of lingered lawn mowers
(the scent of fresh-cut summer).
This poem has no spleen,
but have you seen its appendix?
It’s recently had a sea/tea scan,
a long and lingered plan to sneeze its
nasties, Ecclesiastes style.
Smile. You’re on candied
camera, with a gilded flask
casket of robin’s egg blues
(sing it, sister.)
………………(sweet)
It’s all quad
-ri-literal, really:
slow.
burning.
yearning for a better map.
Now,
(re: treat)
……………..let’s take a nap.
..
‘nother one for Shawna.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
I love a candied camera … yummy
south by southleast … I adore you
Dam-nit, that entryway into this poetic house is so flipping kick-AZZ.
“a satin stir” … Yes please. I could really use a good night of sleep. It’s been so long.
“sea/tea scan” … Love.
OMGoodness, are you serious?! “to sneeze its
nasties, Ecclesiastes style” … I’m out of expletives! (Must read dictionary more.)
“Smile. You’re on candied
camera, with a gilded flask” … This will totally end up being me, I’m sure. I hope I’m at least awesome by then so I won’t even give a flip. Haymitch-style. Whatever MFers. Stick it up your …
Hey, there’s a song for that:
“(sing it, sister.)
………………(sweet)”
I’m trying. Really I am. But THIS keeps coming out of me. 😦
Love:
“quad
-ri-literal”
Heehee. She’s whipping out the Limp Bizkit, y’all. 😉
I adore you.