Tisk tisk, Mr. Smith
She slapped her hand with the pointer
Looking up, I see she’s stern
I stand, wishing to anoint her
I am commanded to about face
I’ve committed an infraction
Taking stock of my flesh
She swoons in satisfaction
But I’m returned to my kitchen
Now pouring a cup of Lady Grey
The kettle broke the spell
My imagination had taken me away
Flaming sauerkraut stud muffin
A condensed version of radial glory
Knowing full well where life begins
The translucent strands of our story
Calculating Parisian jazz statistics
Veiled through the rummy, filtered grime
Distance equals an unfettered stump
When satisfaction measured in Lycra & time
Logbooks; surmounting the tepid schedule
All aboard the mourning run of the downtown train
Sunrise catching your weary eyes
Early summer rain prepositions our inaugural hurricane
*I was bogged down and couldn’t write so I just started writing nonsense until I was inspired to create something. It is what it is.
“Never underestimate how much assistance, how much satisfaction, how much comfort, how much soul and transcendence there might be in a well-made taco and a cold bottle of beer.”
Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume
Captain Q 