by way of introduction

this poem 
is a bright blue 
skysong, scattered notes
caught in brazen beaks. 

she’s tweaked and kerned 
and leaned and learned 
her way to sigh
-lence, and the violet violence 
of petalled eaves. 

she’s a spangled dragon,
blowing syllabled smoke. 

a woman scorned,
a jilted bloke. 

this poem is all those gathered 
tree-skins, breezed to phrase. 

she’s unfazed by storm or 
social norms or the torn
-off pieces of her own tell
-tale heart. 

she’ll stop and start 
and stop (and start) again 
as many times as she pleases. 

she’s weaving blades 
of grass to crass-crunk verse, 
rehearsing to exit 
(stage left) 
right after the curse 
is lifted. 

she’s a witch’s spell 
brewed and stewed and steeped 
in croak and crunch. 

she’s a fancy brunch 
without the teaspoons or benedict 
(arnold) be
-trayal. she’s putting 
(and absolutely nothing) 
on this empty table. 

PAD Challenge, day 8.

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