was to open an eye
at blanket level
and see something
in the corn rows of fabric
stretched ahead of me
then watch my
groggy mind
run off to find it
among the tassels
and ripening ears
somewhere out there
crouched and quiet
I knew
a shy poem lurked
hiding from capture
and that I only had
till my fog lifts
before it would
disappear
down a rabbit hole
can’t remember how I became the family’s melon-cutter the one-handed wash and dry of a cannon ball is no easy trick nor is sawing through its armor plate to make deliverable fruit wedges unless I slic
Why the sly look Mr. Washington on your dollar bill? even the flash of a single tooth might say Yeah, man! and Abe Really? that faraway face on your five spot is the best you could do? you Mr.’s H
who isn’t in a fight with one thing or another battling weight struggling for money in the crossfire of an argument how about those invisible tanks we send to stop or even push back time? and then the