so many w/ great hair
and bad eyesight
if the moon
were a spork
well, ya know
even the cat is sick of it
there is nothing
but to sleep
to grind
to slide forward
to be
a lightning bug
smacked to the windshield
glowing bright
for one more
moment
#
Michele McDannold has an extensive collection of flannel and rubber chicken heads. She lives in a place called the Jhole and does various odd jobs at The Literary Underground (http://theliteraryunderground.org) and Ppigpenn (http://ppigpenn.blogspot.com/).
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