I wondered, am I above? All four paws
strung goodies at my bleeding ankle & all
are tall.
Struggling at pattern recognition & the NYT
crossword; Rumpelstiltskin’s material raw
is, apparently, not straw
but instead, flax.
Thingamajigs, variantly, my ____ is law
strong of my young courageous attacks.
Thirty miles the lone stretch of road, stray cats
alas, down & under grass, silent calls
weakly, and back to back.
Every morrow I come out from my crawl
with a fat pen in hand, I leave a psi.
Unfamiliar with tight-fisted types am I
now two decades running with a soft gift,
peculiar & unwilling to die.
I have made my funnies, so, goodbye.
