like ducks of the walk, bedraggled and drowned.
I’ve forgotten where I left my underwear
and my left ear. It isn’t the same as leaving
glasses in the wrong case. It’s May and I don’t
know what I’m doing. Is there a pill for that?
I’d take it, self-prescribed with shots of
good Scottish whiskey (without the h
or with?) and a scoop of cream whipped
until it bled sugar. Everywhere the sun
sends messages of melanoma. This is
not the summer poem I meant to write.
It’s after rain o’clock somewhere.
Image taken with iPhone.
Words written in bed.
Time Taken 3 minutes.
Brain on mmm…. words…
note: All poems for the month of May are going to be… recorded. In some fashion. I think? I hope. Bear with me. We’ll see how it goes!