one last flabbergasp

this poem is all a
-flutter, a-mutter
-ment of swallowed moon 
and muddled sun. 

she’s one (i am
-bic) foot in, three 
(blank) sheets 
to the wind 
and counting. 

she’s a fountain of be 
-wild
-erment, a copper sun
rise penny spent 
on dandelion wishes
with fluff-fine handles. 

{bring candles.}

she’s throwing a surprise 
party of balloons, baboons  
and cheese on rye. with cake. 

she’ll take you somewhere 
stunned and startled 
dashed and dartled 
stirred and shaken
(this end) 
up. 

she’ll fill your cup with rum
-bled phrase, a haze of days 
astonished. the amaze of star
-stung sky. a hula hoop of moon. 
a swoon of time. 

the conga line 
forms to the left, bereft of all 
but glee. she’s leading 
(the fray) 
the way with a sigh that says 

follow me. 

::
In April, she poems. This one is probably the last.