swing over low-hanging branches
  bottle Philadelphia to jar sunny summer evening
blue holds
christmas lights is sparkly spectacular

Fly if I stumble

somebody a farmer
not you.

Standing in the express checkout,

I am of
a mind to fix

My transmission.

Persons,

Apartment hunting:
Uncertain, tedious work,
So rare the reward.

Spectacular losses;
Each one, a singular blow
Always they're combined.

This is the last of the songs I'll write for the mothers sitting with legs crossed on wooden chairs at the end of interest. This is the second of lines that explain my tendency to forgo madness and play into the hands of literacy and fortune. This is the eighteenth sentence that tells anyone who cares to listen that my dancing in between the lines of each page upon which my pencil glides is not nearing the end but rather coming full circle before smoking circles destroy the first seventeen. And in the end I would hear a response and try to interpret subjects beyond my ability to comprehend.

I guess I've lost my voice to
The wind.
Though easterly blusters
Kept my mama
In shambles
With tumble weeds,
The northern winds will
Carry my voice
To the place where
Dawn
Breaks on ice caps and
Buries fears beneath
The ages of sameness.

when forts were places without rules and they weren't uncommon and they just were,
when school was a morning activity and an afternoon activity and punctuation was more
          important than the sentences themselves,
when I could sit on the sheepskin rug, skin glowing in the light from the incandescent
          bulbs that are now almost impossible to find,
when Daddy's piggybacks were the highest I could ever possibly imagine I'd be, and the slide back down
          was vegetables instead of dessert,
when superiority meant winning tag and soccer and having the best lunch,
when teachers didn't have first names or a life outside of class and to see them in the grocery store was
          a bit of panic and a bit of pleasure,
when family friends meant a bunch of adults who hugged you and gave you candy as a political "****
          you!" to your parents,
when sports were easy and not gendered,
when TV was good and didn't try to teach you anything, and then later when it was bad and still taught
          you nothing,
when bedtime was three hours after a nap,
and when sitting up straight wasn't a remembered idea after four hours of slouching in a computer chair.