Category: Poems

The bluebird of happiness, peepless all these days, sits atop a crooked fence.

Monday Rusty scissors in clumsy hands. A ponderance somewhere. A body of water, something resting at the bottom.

Think of your brain as a trombone needing slide oil and spit valve relief. Frontal lobe as lazy soloist.

Even the shampoo salesman attended the funeral, sat by Gary and Guelda lathering up his sympathy, strength of faith, power of prayer, promise of lavender.