My bowling shoes

are made of glass,

for all that I’m not dancing.

And glitzy halls,

throw bowling balls,

since princes lack financing.

To compensate

for cent-less state,

I burglarize my closet

—ripping any

loafers penny—

to pad my bank deposit.

Still brogues are vogue

and platforms chic,

my pumps remain the newest…

‘My espadrilles

are decked with quills,

and tip wing-toes the truest…

Abating bane

of heels arcane,

found to plague Achilles,

with Piggy loft

all bets are off—

’cause flying pigs are silly

But heel-clicking

* steel-tipping *

flip-flops shaded ruby?

Now those are kicks

with useful tricks!

At least in famous movie.

Yes, blue suede boots

have walked the walk

my clogging days gymnastic…

But nowadays

it’s Mary Janes,

that trip the light fantastic.

 
magic is unique,

if you want to hocus-pocus

sometimes you have to look at the big picture

–not found in TV stores–

and dig yourself a new hole

. . .

a gofer it hole that may lead to Wonderland

prest*O, change*O

or may damage pipes

–you can’t know until you wave that magic shovel

. . .

(bring carrots along just in case)

Of course, you might try

bypassing the wardrobe,

and go in through the bathroom window, instead.

Wielding just enough Windex to provide clarity

(to see the neighboring yard)

the greener grass of which is downright Narnian–

–still.

(pack pockets with Turkish Delight just in case)

and if it’s kite-free weather,

and houses are grounded

no woRRies!

(be happy)

There are yet options

–a wind machine dba portable fan works

> in a pinch <

a droptop drive in the country

does the trick in time, too,

–just not a DeLaurean–

but the best

second-best

by far

is howling at the moon

since any-where-girl worth her hide knows

you can shortcut it to Oz

~along the rainbow bridge~

skipping black & white altogether

to travel in

Technicolor style

. . .

Keep in mind the trees you can’t see

for the forest

have a helluva reach, though,

and if Kansas is your starting point,

bring Apple ammo along, also

. . .

you know

. . .

(just in case)

my pet daisy is dying

lil’ petals curling black

still

~she loves me~

does she not?

brave face fading

despite cater-pillars bracing her

there is nothing to be done

and love pulling her

to save her…

she’s a sweet pet,

honey bees needing her

no bark and no bite,

soothsayer

and I wonder if I should

bury her all the same,

so she can push herself up

lifting

finding new life. . .

So many ways

to say the

Aye

that all begin with

Y…

and Nay’s

the same

a changing frame,

depending on your style.

I guess

no less

I’ll start with Yes

–a man we all esteem

but counterpart in Nay’s

not Ness

or even in between.

It’s No

like Yo

not Oko, though,

who couldn’t sha-na-

Nah

that’s “no” in lingo

and this time: bingo!

opposite is: Yeah.

which builds the hope

that Nope

and Yope,

are contradicting words

alas, a lack

in our verknack

failed to coin this term.

she was the wolf

that cried

“girl”,

the pumpkin-lover

sure to beat the carriage home,

the napping blueblood who

rolled over

in lieu of kisses

–eschewing organic fruit for

GMO since she knew damn well

bigger was better, and

a sure cure for living with systemic

pesticide

– the mutant green–

and ever

mindful of impending run on glass coffins,

she trip-trip-trapped

across bridges

–aflame behind her,

a burning pyre of pick-up Styx

that had gone up like a pile

of pick-up Styx

// just like that \\

careless of gnomes, trolls  and ogres, all,

but mouse-fearful of pachyderms

she embraced blackout conditions

(when available)

and employed catapult to sling Stones

–on the down low

. . .

–at a gun fight

. . .

–at a proper fi-fie-foe fed fire

all the while fermenting bad apples in

cider which

offed

the less hardy

(in cider = truth)

but not her royal ass-pain

–valuing rest beyond

formula, she

was good to leave

secret rooms  locked,

–for heaven’s sake–

climbing 500

miles of stares

instead,

–God Bless America–

and presenting word jumbles

when it felt just rite

–presently–

to riddle you this.

 
 
I couch words carefully,

since going futon- free,

and so far,

it’s a workable arrangement

putting only those on the table

I can afford to misplace

–and look for frantically

when they escape me–

I don’t miss the stuffing

padded, and made of throats

I don’t miss the Nook

preferring hardcopy

I don’t miss having trouble

rising,

and I don’t miss the

burlap sham

that encased it…

worn out sham

 
the frame is the only real part of it

I miss…

the brighter weave where it once rested,

a reminder.

I’m paper

–thusly stationary–

but long to fly

) no aviary (

to limit flight

but wild and free

as uncaged bird is what I’d be…

my first attempt

to Wright

went wrong

I rolled in spit

–and shot through straw–

and took a hit

when backdraft blew,

that spitwad back

in lieu of flew…

on second flight

I fared no better,

becoming kite

the size of letter

-head, but several excess tales

/// assured ///

that worded kite would fail…

I turned within

and puffed hot air!

hoping to set sail from there–

since sky lanterns can burn on high

but frilly me, was shy of fire

I tried so much!

no lie–the fax,

diminished me

to toned syntax,

and missing matter

messed the mark

no–faxing proved a disembark

of snail mail

I wasn’t fan

and fanning femme

was not my plan,

andcrimpedandcramped

my disposition

\\ bent like hell //

and still

transition

from blotter to a soaring swan–

eluded me

‘til polly-gone

–of fan I made

but would not hold,

inspired what was final fold

and taking on a brand new hobby,

I taught myself to origami

pleating in a new-learned crease

–a doubled over, time release–

changed paper me

to quilly flier

(note to self)

paste Post-its higher…