Is for dance, and my heart say forget the tiger claw.
So to the fangs of intelligentsia I give my donkey, thanks,
but I already have ursine poprekash for dimple on my own assumption.
Twice as safe as a pimple in my comatose guardian angel’s mirror, so nice.
As I say is for dance.
As I say is romance.
As I say ignorance.
In my pants have wiggles for to start the dance.
In France with views askance and capri pants.
The Five Eyes share the “One Contact Lens of Clairvoyance is a Slow Christmas for to See the Future Like the Past” by Angelo Langhoc. A tale of the witches who worked their spells and hid their tells. Salem, say me. Slay it together, Lionel Ritchie.
Before daybreak the thrushes sing in mists of morning’s creeping thrall. But after daybreak, all I hear is traffic. And my throat is sore from breathing this garbage.
Draping my wet clothes
over a seeing-eye bush.
Everybody gangster
‘til the bush starts burning.
Calamity’s crankster got the bush some eyes burned blind, and my acid washed jeans and turtleneck rendered to soot.
I abandoned my plans to stride the boulevard in style because the bush has laser eye, no legs, no hands, not even a mouth.
And I’m not even there. But the bush is also ash with clumps of acid washed jeans fabric still smoldering in embers of my astral form. A drifter.
Out for coffee and biscuits.
So tired of the morning.
Trashed my Decembers with stoats in my pantry, stoats in my slurry, boats in my tea, sleep on the lee forgettable,
[interrupted by cat fight, spouse yelling for calm and farting]
dreams I forget upon waking
haunt me, whisper in the pines.
The local cardinals scolded me
when my cat attacked and injured one of them on Mother's Day.
Especially one shrill bright red male.
I was grilling out, feeling okay.
It attempted to acquire my aid, I am sure of it.
Others circled and darted at me.
Somehow I could perceive they had a threat.
I cannot explain I just felt it.
Birds alerting me to danger, asking for help.
I wish for poetry but gather tragedy.
It must be muscle memory of decades of hearing birdsong.
My fat cat Mumu eating one of them.
The others searched for her for an hour.
Fifty State Banana 