She was doing
intricate footwork on her figure
skates behind bars.

Her whole
audience had their
eyes closed.

She conducted their
hearts with her hands.

Her hair flew
like music notes as
she did an axel.

Her figure skates
were like violins.

Her blades were
like the bow.

A lullaby sleep
walked on her tongue.

Her layback spin
was like a tuba scratching
roses into the ice.

Her spiral sailed
through the rink
like a guitar.

She gave you
a feeling like her program
was never ending.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

As it rises through skin I feel myself breath in and as an
exhale escapes my lips the headache rings through the hollow
pipes and pulse through the vessel of bones and meat of I.
Orbs roll down my neck. Winter a gem high on the shelf, only to come down in later Months.

rubber ducky billows
bobbing in a blue sky bathtub
floating on a morning breeze

clouds moderating
liquid vitamin d sun
seeping deeply into pores

sundial shadows
belie still feet
connecting patio cracks

sweet daffodil vanilla air
narcissisticly teasing nostrils
spring swirling deliciously

a morning with no agenda

on dollippingtin’s fragglies
in briffelsy puff-tuft
all blashtered and baggsie
a glumpting was shand-cuffed

his flumper was sump-yunned
and when flayed o’er the shill
she snatchered the snubly
and waxered the wheel

and roiling and foiling
the glumpting did skyle
over the pull-say
and into the schmile

he de-ployed a ghastling
when she tripped a scripe lie
and he sarrowed the fragile
when she squatched like a flie

the glumpting was bashered
and turned the gaze mis-erly
mounsied the snubly
and roiled back to briffelsy

the moggetty corpsy was
blotted and ratten
and burbeling and gurbling
it sniffed like a trash-pan

the flumper lain deadsy
was found by the doll-po
and the glumpting was sentaxed
to scorpse in the prisco

morale of the taile:

if bashtered yourselves be
do not waxer the wheel
do not be a ghastling
just be a hap still