Sometimes

when you slam a door

–you don’t hear the bang

–don’t feel the frame shudder & tear

–don’t hear the lock click

. . .

for years.

and sometimes?
 
 
 
 
that window you look through

–seems dirty

–seems impossibly high up

(on the Wall)

–seems bulletproof,

and screened, besides–

but if you think about it

. . .

the former is shut,

and the

ladder?

the ladder is in

the garage.

the Modern Day Faerie

must believe in

her tail. . .

without backward glance,

rudimentary flicking,

or circular chasing,

this weaver of dreams

knows her once upon a time
 
 
 
is also her end

–a skipping through

woulds,

coulds,

shouldn’ts ,

and

didn’ts

to the

house of the wolf

(most avoid)

the trend-conscious faerie

travels through dead of Knight

without shield

or Shade–

–or she is no faerie at all

.she’s pretend.

a double negative since faeries

are what

make believe

.is.

(if she can’t, you can’t either)

spelled correctly, or not,

it amounts to some of it. . .

and sum of it

is never enough

–unless those calculating

are mathematic genius, and

ethical all at once

–an oxymoron if ever there was one

(as any true faerie knows)

the It faerie of moment

is well aware of all that’s physical

–a creature of ID, and cornerstone

of dwelling, she delegates it

to what is base

— as base is. . .

a shower, sh*t, and shave scenario

if faeries did such things, which

–as you suspect—

faeries don’t.

the Modern Day sprite

disdains connections. . .

scrapping screenplay

to foil would-be muggers

she rights reels, nevertheless,

generally the more

since this up-to-date Imp is altogether

more present than

the gifted

–propelled by GPS

forward.

I’ve sewn a tapestry. . .

with barrows of sh*t,

and lacking thimble

–it was a rug destined

to be pulled.

Unironed, and

flimsy defense

from cannon fire–

a cover ill-suited

to race cars

–and the drivers of race cars–

it resembled nothing so much

as a blanket for horse

–just that the rider stayed mounted–

as riders will

when shoes are mud-caked

and the ground beneath shifts

and teems with feral dogs

that snap at hoof,

but revisiting my top hat

(concealing hare, and colored veil)

I chuck it all

and vacation–

setting sail on battle ship

to nearby shore–

I jettison arms en route

–wreck lessly—

hanging onto

the thread

that weaves

~fashioning

different

life lines~

 
it’s a read

white &

facebook

kinda day–
 
 
pithy quotes

bordering

on unwashed

directives

begging the question

who are these people?

sanctimonious–do they

see though veneer?

Give me your tired

rhetoric,

you’re poor

grammar,

your peddled

message,

in the land of the algorithm,

and home page you save,

it‘s fittin’ to remember

the Encyclopedia Britannica

–less inundated, and

less informed,

its banner

days

lacked bunting

–awning without

sun.