as a live wire
Matt or Gloss?
Can fleas jump through the icepack melt,
deep buried matt in polar fur,
or hide, wide in the penguin stir,
caught bubble, air, as water thump?
Working though clumps to find the derm,
then holding on for all their worth,
despite the preening beaks as comb;
not gloss as
seals escape the whales,
thick skinned, unsuitable to fleas.
Thought is a caterpillar
wiggling down the spine,
making a left into the mouth,
and fluttering out as a word butterfly.
Sometimes, it turns too soon
and slides down the nose.
Then, it’s just snot.
Highway trucks like thunder invade dreams like a storm
~Julie A. Dickson
clarified butter the owl's antecedent
spare parts the sum of his life
in his jeans
my true nature
of Easy Cheese.
dust-covered a poem filled with ribbon candy
from the berries