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8h · 32
as black satin sheets
at the bottom of my bed
spread tightly across
the four corners
and hung over the edge

as salt water taffy
pulling the ribbons of azure
gold, red, purple and green
then cutting them clean into little clumps
that melt on the tongue
one by one

as an elastic
wound around the finger
cutting off the circulation
and all sensation

as on the rack
limbs tied with a rope
dislocating the joints
while the old man has a smoke
2d · 21
I Go Through
the day
the same way
coaxing myself
to climb out of
this mountain of bed
with all the covers
spread out like a thick blanket of snow
weighing down the branches
as this head dances
like a bobblehead doll
sealed in a box
you can purchase at the mall

I go through
the door
and out into the world
like a furled umbrella
that when dry is stellar

I go through
the motions
like a shackled prisoner
wearing heavy chains around the ankles
handing out samples of weathered burn lines
behind a thin screen
of rust colored dust in the basement
where the windows have no curtains
so, all can look in
at the experiment
3d · 13
If Nothing
happened how would I
I write? My scars are my
sight. If nothing occured I wouldn't
matured.If nothing set me off

I'd not lift off the page. I'd not
engage an audience. If nothing ever
jostled me, although I'm sozzled I'd
nothing to speak.
4d · 46
He Undid Me
like a gold button, leaving me
with the hole, the spot that filled me,
held me in tight, now a slit overnight.
And soiled did he blight. High on
his horse, no longer enmeshed!
Another Macbeth.

He undid me
pressed Ctrl+Z on his keyboard
till not a trace of me
left. Then he typed in boldface
over the place I held breath.

He undid me
like a bun, secured with
a barrette. Shook me loose. Now
a hairy mess. Like Niagara Falls I fell
to my death.
for me
when I’m with you.
No place to spread
my roots. No place

to reach out
my limbs. No place
to turn within. There is
no place to voice

my mind. No place
to find my center. No point
to even enter. There is no place
for me to grow. No space

for air
to flow. All there is
is you. You take up
all the room.
6d · 11
A Mistake
the lies and guise
went straight to my head
you took it back
Every lovely thing you said
Every lovely piece I read
Every lovely day that fled
Every walk in the park
Every talk in the dark
Every embrace
Every blush of my face
said it didn't count
so all the years amount to not
but drunken nights that taught me
you were a mistake
I had to make
he filled with water and
flowers, carnations and roses,
tulips and daisies. He went crazy
with the blooms. But I didn't have

the room for the water, let alone
the flowers. I leaked out the holes
in showers. The weight of this made
me crack. You can't stack more into

something that can't hold itself
up. You can't pour tea into a cup split
in two. You can't walk in shoes that don't
have a sole. My pieces rolled off the table

like a marble. He cut himself on the shards
scattered all over the floor. Too many pieces
for him to piece back together. The only thing
to rise is his blood pressure.
Mar 15
He Ran Off
sandra wyllie Mar 15
on her like butter
on top of hot bread straight
from the oven. Like silky thread
of a web. Ran off as a thief

after holding up the city
bank. Like a guppy after he
feeds in a large fish tank. He ran
off like rainwater from the

gutters. Like April snow on the outside
shutters. He ran off like a vulture
after feeding on the carcass. Ran off right
after that smoldering car kiss.
Mar 14 · 8
I'm an Alphabet Soup
sandra wyllie Mar 14
of letters in his bowl. From A to
O. From P to Z he swallowed me
whole. Wiped the last drop of broth
on his red cotton cloth. Loose in

his gastric juice I put together
the header with my scrambled letters. In
the upper left corner, I warn her of
his tongue and his flapping gums. I spell

it out in the body that he is hot
as a toddy and twice as strong. She'll
catch in his tonsils and cough
out on his console, as I did. And swim

fast as a squid in his sea of books. But I
bind mine with leather and turpentine. And
I sell them on the web where they flow
and ebb.
Mar 13 · 16
The Clouds
sandra wyllie Mar 13
are marshmallows. And the rain
is champagne! And lo and behold
no woman can abstain. The man
says so!  All his ducks are in

a row. The girls are all
pretty and thin! Even if they're
two-hundred and ten! Tell the man
your dreams. He'll serve them to you

in a bowl with cherries and whipped
cream. The girl's head is in the clouds
and her pants in his seat. Judy in the sky
with glasses. He made her a life

of ashes, drinking her ***** in
martini glasses. They say that everything
passes. So, she passes out of his life
and checks out of hers.
Mar 12 · 46
It's Not Lack
sandra wyllie Mar 12
of amour. It's self-
preservation. I've grown poor
in spirit. I can't grin and
bear it for another day

It's not lack
of ardor. None have tried
harder than me. But I can't live
a life of make-believe.

It's not lack
of rhythm. With him
for sixteen years, dancing to the beat
of the snap of his fingers. They're now
my triggers.

It's not lack
of fit. I just can't sit with this. I'll miss
him. But the ride is over. I'm not
a leftover.
Mar 11 · 20
We Used To
sandra wyllie Mar 11
be friends when
we used to be thin. We were
in grade school, remember
when? We used to worry about

the clothes we wore, how to
style our hair. And we talk about
our crush and walk to the five and dime
store for some cherry slush. We used to

jump rope and skip jacks and not
walk on the sidewalk cracks! We used to
put on the Saturday morning cartoons and
lay on the sofa till noon. And then the

college exams, jobs and men. We used to worry
about our wedding dress, the bouquet and our
house in a mess. We worried about child
birth and paying the bills/ to stay home or

work, the aches and the pills. We hadn't spoken
in a while. But as I look at the pictures I smile. Now
we worry about our growing waistline, wrinkles
and receding hairlines. Now we worry about

our parent's health, nursing homes and
home-owner's loans. We worry if we raised
our children to be strong women and men.
We haven't spoken in years. I worry if I call

you won't pick up the phone. So, I don't.
We used to be friends
when we used to be thin. We were
in grade school. I remember when.
Mar 10 · 40
Fill In My Space
sandra wyllie Mar 10
because I'm laced
with turpitude. And now
I'm standing in the ****,
uncovered. So, I'm

smothered from all
that touches me, like a white
canvas splattered with
red and black paint. I ain't

man. I ain't woman. I am
nil. I fill up with all you are. I fill up
like a cookie jar. I can fill with rocks
or cherries. I can fill with chocolate

chips or poison berries. Just tell me
all you like. I'll string you like a flying
kite. I'll take you high up in the air. I'll
take you till I break you like a broken chair.
Mar 9 · 44
Every Day
I'm running as a river
between the shakes I shiver
empty into the lake
and in the sun I bake

Every day
like another
I smother
in the prose
and turn up my nose

Every day
I paint the picture
black and white with stricture
and place it out to dry
like ma's hot mince pie
back then,
without wrinkles and hair grey
I'd hold my own to him.
But I was so little,
little in my experience of life.
I went from daughter to wife
at the age girls were still dating,
planning their next vacation
not dusting, vacuuming and baking.

If I was this woman
that stands outspoken
not a little girl broken
I wouldn't have fallen for
stars in his eyes.
I'd rise as the stars and shine
without a man by my side.

If I was this woman
I'd hold the little girl
in my arms
and mother her from
experience. Every child
needs a mother. But not
every woman can
mother a child if she’s broken.
to my seat? Walking back in forth,
needing to be seen. Making a rut in
the rug. Snug in my chair. All I see is
her feet. My head down in my lap. My eyes

glued to the screen.  Still she taps
on my shoulder. She breathes. The things
she says smolder. She's a disease. I slouch
down in my seat. She's talking to the window,

the window behind me. Looking like
a ***** and grinding like peppercorns
on a piece of meat. I scan the room for a hole
to crawl in, so I won't be seen. I stare at the fly

on the table. If I grew a pair of wings! She stands
over me. She breathes. She's a disease. I slouch
lower in my seat. If the floor opened I'd jump in,
covered in rock and rubble with a white-tooth grin!
Mar 6 · 37
One More
crack and she'll break.
The slightest push is all it takes.
One more
stoke of this cinder
will be her greatest hinder.
One more
cackle, one more squawk
will put her in shock.
One more
sound, one more utter
will send her heart a flutter.
One more
look, one more glance
will put her in a deep trance.
One more
poke, one more hole
will send her spiraling out of control.
Mar 5 · 21
Holding Onto You
is like holding the string
of a kite in a gale. The tail is
swept up and tangles in the
trees. You can't pull it free. It'll

wither in the sun. So,
you have a string not attached
to a thing, like an unloaded gun. Holding
onto you is like gripping a sharpened

knife. It cuts my hand, like bread I am
sliced.  Holding onto you is like
placing my palm over the flame of
a candle. It burns. The skin is not

made to handle the heat. It turns to ash
as it retreats. It's like holding onto the edge
of a cliff with just my fingertips. I slip into the abyss
and fall to my death with only a kiss.
a dark house of clay, I turn
into a tavern. Drink the years
and lay down this like a slave. Stalagmites,
my pillow. Head heaving with

heaving billow. A life underground. A stop
in the round. The weathering of this
rock inside walls of chalk. I chip with
fiery chisel, grizzle haired. Carving

hieroglyphics. Noting the specifics
to some passersby. Like trying to catch
a fly in my hand/waiting for him
to land. And clocking his movements. But

seeing no improvement. No windows
or doors. But I've floors to walk,
and echoes to talk back at me.
Lively company!
Mar 3 · 46
What Am I
a drop of rolling dew
or a blade of grass?
A liquid bead
that looks like glass.
Or a tall, thin reed
blowing in the marsh
upon the wild and hold
as starch?

What am I

a branch or a leaf?
Do I turn color from green to red
and spread myself over the land?
Or am I home to the robin
bobbing along making her nest?
Do I break off in a blow?
Or flex myself as I'm heaped in snow?

What am I

a crow or wren?
Do I sing a song
or caw till dawn and then again?
Mar 1 · 28
Once I Removed This
plank in my eye
I could see the mountain
the forest and the trees
and the clearing of a path ahead of me

Once I removed this
boulder off my shoulder
I grew lighter
and could lift up my feet
dancing in the fields
of honey wheat

Once I removed this
buzzing in my head
I could hear the running river
the ****** sliver pieces of bark
the grey wolf howling in the dark
and the starling singing with the lark

Once I removed this
man from my life
the cataract blocking my light
I could fly
Mar 1 · 44
Every Day I Fight
to climb out of bed
brush my teeth
and clear this head
to wash the dirt off of yesterday
no soap can clean up this shame
no ***** and lime can douse the flame
the pain I carry inside of me

Every day I fight
to set it free
this wildfire
the burning rage
and weld the pieces
broken off from age

Every day I fight
is a chore
leaving ruts across my bedroom floor
seeing wrinkles I hadn't before
and stores of fat rolls on my arms and legs

Every day I fight
walking on eggs
penning it all in red
under a marmalade sky
to shed some light on yesterday
and lay it in my garden
to harden with mother earth
and in this death some girth
Feb 28 · 35
You Watched
sandra wyllie Feb 28
me bleed out my colors
from red to yellow
to pale
left me standing frail
leaking out the air of this balloon
with a needle
then flying off like
a spotted beetle

You watched
as I was run over
after you dumped out this load
my innards laid out
on the side of the road

You watched
as the doctors draped
my broken body
placed me on a metal gurney
tagged my toe
sent me on my journey into hell
and you with head swelled flew
Feb 27 · 40
I Waited for You
sandra wyllie Feb 27
as nightfall stung
in a blood-red October sky
as dewdrops rolled off blades of grass
and the air passed through my silky dress
caressing each mound of breast
till I heaved in distress
and broke out in hives

Waited till
the calendars flung
out of the window as robin sung
on snowy branch
and my pen danced on perfumed paper
that lit up like fire
as I inhaled the vapor
drunk on yesterday
and bent of this caper

in shadows hung
on city streets
like stalkers stalking me
in the desert moon
and weeping icicles
in the month of June
till I froze in my tracks
an ice-sculptor for the parade
with a pound of lemon, *****
and sage
Feb 26 · 39
It's a Beautiful Dream
sandra wyllie Feb 26
before it turns into
an explosive nightmare.
Careful what you wish for.

You dream it in the dark.
Can't see it in the light.
It's only a silhouette,
flat as a crepe.
Draped over your bed at night.

It'll shatter in your hands
once it comes to life.
And to think you made the plans
that caused your own demise.
Feb 25 · 66
This Mouth
sandra wyllie Feb 25
is made for talking
not to be silenced
hands are for holding
not to be clenched in fists of violence

The eyes
are made to look
not to judge
This head is made to think
but some days it doesn't budge

The feet
are made for walking
not only for standing
wings are made for flying
not only for landing

This life
is made for the living
not for sitting back
and counting all that's missing
Feb 24 · 66
sandra wyllie Feb 24
on the sun
little dots like ***** shots
blotting the sky
with a tapestry of poetry
and a side wedge of lime

like ladybugs
on a redhead passing by
rising up to the top
like mom's homemade apple-pie

jingling in her pant pocket
bits of silver castanets
like hand and feet
come in sets
making music to the beat
of a silhouette

from the crowd
jeering jabs of barbed wire
can't fence in
this spitfire

framing paper pulp into sheets
to pen the lines
of valentines that couldn't
take the heat
Feb 23 · 41
If I sit
sandra wyllie Feb 23
as a stone
someone can throw me
through a window

If I sit
as a fallen leaf
someone can crush me
beneath their feet

If I sit
as dust
someone can wipe me off
the top

If I sit
as the snow
I can turn yellow

If I stand
as the sun
I rise
over the mountains
and fill the sky
Feb 22 · 65
Rocky Mountain
sandra wyllie Feb 22
the climb is steep
the footholds not deep
to land my shoe. The air is
thin. And no rescue. The drop

is sheer. The top is just a resting
spot to sit for a minute. This mountain
has teeth. And should I slip
into oblivion I'll burn in the sun and

freeze in the rain. The days are
chains of smoke poking me
in the side. I'm on this vertical
ride till I slide off. But till then I'll

pen the scenery in cool azure and fiery
crimson. And leave the flags for my next of
kin. Then bid them tidings of my findings. So,
they may read the records of my climbing.
Feb 20 · 46
These Hands
sandra wyllie Feb 20
shape you
they hold your head
when you enter this world
the doctor shouts out "a baby girl"

These hands
spank you
for not following
mother's orders
they leave welts
and black and blues
squeeze you into
tight shoes

These hands
unite with a man
wearing golden bands
holding the bouquet
and cutting the cake

These hands
dust the furniture
make beef stroganoff
and mow the lawn
breastfeed the babies
when they're born

These hands
read storybooks
call the ambulance
shake and sweat
when the boy’s near death

These hands
fight city hall
call the lawyers
doctors and all
turn into fists
and punch the air
and land on lists

These hands
stroke men
that sit in chairs
and listen

These hands
pen the lines
so all can read
all are blind
Feb 19 · 64
No One
sandra wyllie Feb 19
is going to hold my head
down under the water again
or lock my feet in chains
or act just like a friend
or push me through my pains

No one
is going to blind me
with their light
or step on me like an ant
or tell me no, "I can't"

No one
is going to bully me
or cut me with their speech
or put me on a leash

No one
is going to break
the broken pieces
strewn on my dresser
to make this Mona Lisa's
smile a little lesser

No one
is that high
or infallible themselves
I only have one life
I'm going to live for myself
Feb 18 · 50
You Can't Go Back
sandra wyllie Feb 18
to the place before
the matter. You are in
another place now. You're another
woman. You can't unsee

the things you saw. You can't undo
the things they did to you. They're
part of you. Pieces broke off. You can't
unhear the angry voices. You can't

unwrite the pages. You wear
the battle scars. You cover them
in make-up and smiles. You toast them
in ***** and lime. You pen them in

stanza and line. You sit with them
on the sofa. Walk with them to the bath. You carry
them to bed. You even pack them in
the suitcase boarding the plane. You take them

on vacation. You don't go back
to the places. You don't talk to them. The days
before it didn't matter. The days you ate
snowflakes and drank rain. The days you soiled

pink ruffled ******* and made
mud pies instead of apple. The days you stole
the letters in Scrabble. The days you floated
in the bubble. Till it popped like a pimple.

If life were only simple.
Feb 17 · 796
She's Going to Walk Out
sandra wyllie Feb 17
on him some day. She's tired of
holding on when he just strays. She's put up
with a lot over the years. It wears on you
after a while. It's hard to hide behind

a smile. She's going to reach a point of
no return. She's going to spurn
his advances. She's given him too many
chances. She's lost herself living

for him. She's lost her light. She's dim. She'll not
stand in his shadow no longer. Over the years
she's grown stronger. She's not the girl
he first met. He's not her world. She's not

his pet. She's not going to leave a note
on the kitchen table. She'll waltz out that door now
that she's able. And not look back. She's paving
a path up to the sky. Sprouting wings, she's going to fly.

My new poetry book is out:
Feb 16 · 47
I Got Him Out
sandra wyllie Feb 16
of my hair.
Like lice he
got tangled up
in there. Got him out

of my closet.
He'd left
his skeleton as
a deposit. Got him out

of my tree house.
He'd crawl in
my holes like a mouse.
Got him out

of my so-called life.
Gave him back
to his so-called wife. So, he's out

of my canopy bed.
But he isn't out of
this floating head!
Feb 15 · 83
He Shined
sandra wyllie Feb 15
yellow as the sun.
But as a lemon,
bitter was his taste
lying on my tongue.

He shined
red as my satin lipstick.
But as I pressed him to my lips,
like a virus
I fell sick.

He shined
as a silver dollar.
But as he pulled me close,
I choked
like wearing a tight dog collar.

He shined
as a gold mine.
But as our bodies danced,
he pickled me like brine.
Feb 13 · 113
My Shoes
sandra wyllie Feb 13
are big and worn. I've worn them
since I was born. None can
fit in them. They only are my size. I've
worn them in sunrise and rain,

through beatings and days
I was drained. I danced in moonlight
singing a song all night. I walked the
floor in them wiping baby's

phlegm. I soiled then in my garden,
and the day I starred in woman
*****. They shaped all I was. Saw me
through menopause. They're filled with holes

and old. But even unraveled
have sole. I cannot trade them in. I'll only die
in them. None can fill my shoes. Even if
they choose to have a shot. It just isn't their lot.
Feb 12 · 79
Counting Down
sandra wyllie Feb 12
the things to do
picking out the dress
the perfume and shoes
filling my head with his face
filling my face with make-up
taking up space on the bathroom sink
the sun sinking behind a cloud
clouding my eyes in reverie

Counting down
the hands on the clock
till four o'clock
blow-drying my hair
hearing the whirl of leaves
flying from the trees past the picture window
and the caw of the crow
rattling my soul
polishing my speech and nails
brushing my teeth/hopping on the scale

Counting down
the streets to his house
blaring the radio to pop music
rolling down the window and hill
turning the *** to catch a song
he sang to me
fixing my face in the mirror at a red light
butterflies dancing in my tight tummy
my pulse accelerating with the gas
as I pass the numbers of his neighbor's homes

Counting down
the seconds
to his door
crossing the yard
walking past the old Oak tree
following the lighted path
down the brick steps
holding my breath
wiping the sweat off my hands
turning the ***
looking through the glass
this whole day starting now
Feb 10 · 43
Is That Him
sandra wyllie Feb 10
dropping his chin
down to his chest?
Yesterday his grin
was neatly pressed.

Is that him
telling those lies?
Yesterday his heart
was swelling twice the size.

Is that him
dragging his feet?
Yesterday he was bragging
he can't be beat!

Is that him
Putting on airs?
Yesterday he was hotfooting
down stairs.

Is that him
kissing a girl?
Yesterday he was missing
me. I was his world.
Feb 9 · 48
My heart skipped
a beat every time you walked
near. I didn't skip a day,
of seeing you dear. And when

I skipped my period
I thought it would be great
to have your baby. But it was
only late. After a while you skipped

calling me and answering
my texts. I sat up at night worried
what would happen next? You skipped
out on me on a date, didn't even call. Did

you know how long I had
to wait? I skipped my lunch and
dinner. I just couldn't eat. You didn't tell
me when's the next time we could

meet. I skipped my plans with
friends. Didn't want to act ok, didn't
want to pretend. I skipped going out
altogether. I was blue. Didn't know

whether I could go on without
you. Years skipped by me very fast. Years
of self-medicating on alcohol and labeled
an outcast. Tired of skipping out on

my life. Thought I'd give it one
more try. So, I skipped dessert,
lost weight and surprise! The sky was
azure. And the grass green. So, I skipped
home from work and didn't care if I was seen!
Feb 8 · 70
The Last
he'll hang me out to dry.
he'll tell another of his lies.
I weep inside my broken hands.
I ever make further plans.
I'll toss and tun, sweating at night.
I'll hold back from a red flag fight.
my voice falls on deaf ears.
my head swims in past years.
I'm second-rate.
I'm gonna wait.

It's the first
putting myself first.
It's worst
placing myself last.
Even if I'm an outcast.
Feb 7 · 61
degree from the ivy league school
every woman says he's cool
big house sitting on the hill
big shoes for men to fill
big pedestal for him to fall
big breaks into small
big isn't big after all
once its down
its pieces
Feb 6 · 55
Behind the Smile
of cherry wine,
and yellow tooth grin are penciled
in lines, and a wagging tongue
like a puppy's tail about to wail

from a mouth
that's swallowed back
**** and confusion to paint
an illusion of blithe. Cloaking lugubrious

eyes in dark shadow and spider
legs and weeping dregs from the bottom
of limpid bottles. This models a portrait of

a woman in hegemony. Not a woman
battling an enemy. A woman calling the shots,
not drinking them with a wedge of lime
and line of rhyme like withered roses on a stem.
Feb 5 · 79
What You See
is not who I was
I was tormented and slapped
made to feel trapped
pushed aside and ignored
made to feel bored
screamed at and shoved
made to feel unloved
talked down to and ridiculed
made to feel fooled
told I was too intense
made to feel dense
clawed at and bruised
made to feel used
living in a household of anxiety
made to feel not part of society
therapists that sexually abused me
only confused me
living a life of hell
what you see is now
is a woman unwell
Feb 4 · 60
as a squall uprooting
a backyard tree
as the crash of the waves
against the rocks in the sea

as an avalanche
plummeting down
the next big
nuclear meltdown

as stage four
cancer spreading
you can't stop
this woman from heading
to the top
Feb 3 · 48
I Let My Pieces Fall
into a kaleidoscope
of running colors that danced
on broken glass through
every pass.

I let my pieces fall
into a mosaic
of cut tiles that fit together
swirling like a painting,
a work of art I was creating.

I let my pieces fall
like raindrops
from a cloud. And built
a rainbow over the sky
a hundred stories high.

I let my pieces fall
into a garden
and watered the harden
earth. And birthed a bed of
roses with little turn-up noses.
Feb 2 · 90
Some People
make you.
Some people
break you.
But some of the ones
that make you
are the ones
that can break you!

Some people
love you.
Some hate you.
But the ones that hate you
don't let them bait you!

Some people
stand up for you.
Some stand in the way.
Take a stand for
what you believe in
and it won't matter either way!

Some people
are friends.
Some enemies.
Only time can tell
the difference
between the two of these.
Feb 1 · 205
Never That Girl
begging for paper crumbs
and then becomes
smaller upon the feast.
This woman's a beast.

Never that girl
spreading her petals  
and then settles for less.
This woman stands for success.

Never that girl
weeping over him
climbing out on a limb.
Not ever seen.
This woman's a queen.

Never that girl
broken in pieces,
flushed down as faeces.
As the Pheonix she'll rise.
This woman's a prize.
Jan 31 · 54
It's Over
sandra wyllie Jan 31
But I'm not over it. I'm on
top of it. It took sixteen years
to reach the summit from climbing

on my tears with threadbare
shoes. I was born to lose. The air
up here is thin, wrinkling all my

skin. I don't have a flag, marking I
was here. All I have is a head full
of yesterday. And I've become

the prey. I spy an eagle flying. Jump to
hitch a ride. I glide like I have wings. But I
can't even fly, even as I cut the strings.
Jan 30 · 183
If You Held a Drop
sandra wyllie Jan 30
of my love it fit you like
a velvet glove, molded to your
leather hand, wrapped around
your fingers like a rubber band, cutting off
your circulation. You'd be growing
a new mutation.

If you held a drop
of my pain it crush you like
a freight train. You'd be cut off from
the wrist. Your veins hanging
into a gnarly twist.

If you held a drop
of my sweat, a tiny pearl
be a threat. It burn a hole inside
your palm as if someone dropped
an hydrogen bomb.

If you held a drop
of my tears, for all the years
I wept inside my hands you'd fill
the oceans and the seas. I’m not a pluck
of hair you can tweeze.
Jan 29 · 46
Where Did You Go?
sandra wyllie Jan 29
I looked for you under November snow.
You turned colors like the autumn leaves.
You rolled me up like your shirtsleeves.

Where did you run?
You beat down on me as the August sun.
You burnt me with your amber rays.
Disappeared like a needle in the hay.

Where did you fly?
I saw you in the red-hot sky.
You turned windy as a hurricane.
Spun me around like a weathervane.

Where are you now?
Over the moon with the cow?
Or dishing with the spoon?
While I stand here like a prune!
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