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Shoo in…

shoe_one
 
My sole mate

is the only shoe I’ll ever need–

so I’ve tossed all others

over telephone lines

in swinging graffiti

without peroxide, or maybe a little, he

tingles me from

tippy tops to

toes

…..

invigorating most runs, he

under•stands my arch

sez

and never pinches

even when I’m wearin’ green

or knot

(the lace)

he has no heel whatsoever,

but plenty of platform, he

is trendy as all get out

every every day, and

I do–

walking a crooked mile

to wear he is.

a

flats out

ball.

 ©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: soul mate

Supposed to be Read…Rite?

birdee
 
Make every day Thanksgiving!

with reservations in stolen nations

center your peace

around daisies

you’re not pushing…

polish the silver ’til its sterling qualities gleam,

and
 
 
 
practice grace

before

eating crow

carving the bird,

seizing opportunity

for

genu’reflection

–but “wine” less,

rite?

since communion

with

you-Christ,

requires a level

of sobriety

that stale crackers

collected on plates

and boxed Chablis

decanted

into chalice

–muddle.

On & Off (times infinity)

deejaya compact little unit,

the wifi is high energy,

Böse

as all get out

(which is German for angry, wicked, and evil)

funnily enough

to mix emotional states

and hers

are

mixed.

Remixed & up that fabled river,

With Styx and the Stones

more surround sound

with the volume cranked,

and deafen-itely

un·trans·mute·able.

bringing an

ear

~ring~

problem on somethin’ fierce

worse than

tinnitus,

and in some cases better, which is quite

appropriate since I am her

tin man

properly hinged, and

fashioned of sturdier mettle

in some cases,

her’artless

police

in others–

slick with oil.

Before the Wind

dancing_skeletons
 
skeletons

(in closets)

or out

–bones just can’t tell–
 
 
how their lives might have been…

if cheekbones

hollowed before

harvest

or bloomed,

if sockets ran rivers

or shone,

if hips

danced or

trudged a lone,

if ribs held hearts

broken

or whole,

if blades

squared

or

bowed,

if heels

dug in

or achille’d

if arms held

or kept at length.

–bones just can’t tell–

the story

behind mortal weaks

of flesh…

©Karen Robiscoe

Unspoken Sparklers

makeup
 
Sometimes a poem needs

to be fresh scrubbed.

needs brushin’, and washin’ and undoin’

Gee…say it ain’t so!

all make up gleaned & cleaned &
 
 
“once upon a times” unclipped.

Pretend pinned to the crown,

upbraiding the hare

pixie dust swept up,

and glitter removed—

well

to the extent one can remove glitter—

basted seems of

alter egos

let out,

metaphors

bade farewell at sics

& seven,

and similes simplified, like,

spittin’ mouthwash Rorschachs,

and it’s a task that lends itself to itself, really…

the puffy allusions work wonderfully well with a little

oil, baby,

wiping away writer’s black without

raccoon,

(banned it!)

&

papers blotting

lip-

stuck on

happy ever after.

mop_and_bucket

©Karen Robiscoe

♥ of g•Old

the 4th page o’ posts..

That Hoover? Dammmmmmm

carpet
 
a Levi’ed Jeanie,

I got on my magic carpet and

floored it,

ripped black shag from atop concrete, and

,,,staples hanging,,,

explored it

(the morass)

the way most stamped tramps, and voodoo dolls did, and I was no exception

(just a different model)

washed in acid,

skinny, and distressed,

with holes I’d made on purpose

> so self a’wear <

and scuffed cuff besides, I sewed this fringe

onto my magic ride as creation

(of it)

allowed

at once aghast

and on E,

to find it tangled in the vacuum

twice

that I’d also thought to bring along.