sunflower3.jpg

with the care of a sunflower face or safety pin
 

cannot clip

dotted lines

power lines

ravens all aboard

 

sunflower faces

gaze at the sun

much the way

i look

at you

 

window panes shatter

an empty  building succumbs

to a thunderstorm

 

teardrops scatter, inappropriately

as brian wilson

belts out his song

 

agile, fast, heartbroken

does she navigate

the Limberlost

the chamomile clinging

chartreuse

at her sides

 

with the care

that could only be exhibited

in fastening a safety pin

onto his lapel

 

 

  

Pollywog Sinclair

 

Once there was a man named Pollywog Sinclair.

He would hold his Boston Terrier close to his chest.

As if there were a cross for a landing strip where the dog’s back had to be adhered

With masking tape.

Those dogs were made to beat eachother

Bat at eachother, their shivering, oinking, farting selves

in the depths of boston amongst

Deceased lobsters, other crustaceans.

Briny as it was.

Mr. Pollywog Sinclair rescued the dog from an orange juice factory.

The dog would never have scurvy.

But his hairs would get into the orange juice cartons and that wasn’t good.

Pollywog Sinclair would wear a vest over his chest to conceal his belly and

Pear-shaped body. He was awfully soft looking for a man. He had “birthing hips.”

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