Don’t even try to predict the spin
on the trigger-finger status
chin chopper chin chopper
chin chopper chin
or estimate the town tower elevation.
Left wing depository crinkles with cellophane
and roughshod solder.
Never assume the words that are hers
are hers, they might be yours all spinning with
flywheel grease and stillborn cinders.
tell me differently tell me differently
Sometimes the lean-in cleavage
is a mocking bird’s midnight call.
Sometimes the wrap-skirt lift
is just spring wind updraft,
like exposed white leaf bellies
of the ghost maple.
storm, coming
Don’t try to fight spitfire supermarket
standards or their spills and trip-wire logic
that stumble down the Goya aisle. Maria slices
needles from prickly pear.
Christen me, my cracking bird.
Christen me, my ticktack girl.
Make me play it even,
make me play it green,
quick catch the iron rain, cut corners
from the cross-stitch sampler.
Home is where the dog is.
Signed, X
