Nursing achy joints; a blue dream
On a tsunami cloud, my fallacy is pathetic, yet proud.
So Charles Dickens haunts me between the air and the earth;
And we watch tequila sunrise marry depressed palm trees
At a lonely stoplight ceremony officiated by the sea.
In a mourning haze I write to posterity and to the past—
Smoky fingertips knot nonsense to a page
And my tears tear the bad verses—a defective verdict.
Meanwhile, Panther Po stalks the Rye Runner’s rapture:
Lemonade layers obsidian eyes
See my trampoline brain
Send tickling thoughts
To a skylark in sighs.
I ask Aesop if the tortoise is Logic and Love the hare.
He says to look for A Moment of Truth;
But my joints still hurt, and I miss the sky.
