I need one more poem tonight
but I can’t decide
what I want or need to write
about this real or
fictional life.

The glower grows
as glows a shiny nose
of silly whispered prose,

a wisp of wasted wind
that could have cooled
your sweat glistened skin,

a tiny tower where
Rapunzel lays her hair,
a glorious mane
that stories share,

a stray verse
spread to those
who wear tradition’s clothes
in dreamy hopes
that they will tread bare
and release the poet
that reside somewhere
under there.