It’s a day for painting myself purple periwinkle
-prosed, poised proud with a pen
-chant for plums (eaten, so delicious, so sweet.)
It’s a day to be
-fuddle myself full-mooned and frosting sprinkled,
muddled and puddle-wonder-filled.
Come my way –
we’ll ink ourselves silly, willy-nilly open-veined
and broken open indigo sky.
We’ll fuel ourselves
on parchment and page, cinnamon sage tea
-shirts soaked in salt, sorrow. Stung.
We’ll fool them all.
They think we’re working, but we’re really
twerking in word bump moves. Tweaking, leaking
more than all this scattered pilfered paint.
This ain’t the circus, ma’am. Move along and find
your own damn song. See?
That guy with the sign, he knows his. Spare him
a dime, some time, a small kindness, a long
lost brother to hold. Forgive
me; this is just to say
I would like a new universe, please.
This one’s grown cold.
It’s Poetry Month! Join me and all the other fools writin’ a poem a day over at Poetic Asides.