WayBack Alman(i)ac

’tis cloudy with a chance of drizzle,
weeping willows waiting.

our chi texture?
swirls and curves,
and custom eyes-ed sunrise
song. just listen

to the hum
-ming birds, the snails. the mermaids

of this vast wide sea. her childhood dream:

to swing to the moon on her own salty tresses,
sidewalk chalk talk her way back down this ebony
sky. we export hope. we graffiti grace. we are lovers
of conspiracy and a fine pair of dancing clogs donned
for the harvest festival. here’s

the mayor in his finest suit, under the elm on the hill
outside your wind(ow). He’s selling parchment pickwick papers:

Girl Swallows Her Own Song

Dearest Calliope, wish you were

here (there be dragons. one
fish; two fish.) garbage cans
full of feathers.

coyotes calling. Wish you were



Hitting the prompts late this evening after a busy day. This one’s NaPoWriMo, day 16


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