Lucky Jefferson

All those years

of trouble and toil

broken toys, syllables of a harvest moon

A place

to hold a thought

a raid on our tongue tips,
dipping in the honey taste of...

She said: take your curse, digest your sorrow, own your misery

I love them, their blue stickish torsos and jaunty meanderings

You will raise the spray to the sky, beloved, beautiful.

I run from the wound causing

mayhem along the causeway of my mind