Poem 61

Jingling keys in St Peter pocketbook nightmare greed,

I have been a broken alligator who could not shut his mouth.We ate the children when winter turned.

Horsewhisperer, can you whisper to horses who are really metaphors for people who have run a good run, stumbled, tripped in the rut, and broken an ankle? I want more beagle eyed red baron dog fighters to patrol my weary kingdom skies. Horsehwisperer, nevermind.

When you search for one truth, you find starchy pigeon pot pies. search for three truths, says the Boo Dada and you will find one that can fill in in place of the one you wanted.

Alligator jawed, reaching backward into a shopping cart, finding broken heinz ketchup bottle glass, can’t tell if i’m bleeding or a condiment covered hors d’oeuvre.

Jingling, jingling keys, amish steeples, cheese, a wheezy cough in a drafty house on the plains.

dear Boo Dada, i am less than i thought i was and i found too many truths.

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