I am weird.

Yeah.

>strange<
 
 
uh-huh, and lately—a little weirder.

I am good with that handle, though.

Weird = wild & unscripted

Mass = energy squared

Disturbed = fallout

and Weapons of Mass Disturbance

render marvelous fallout.

Fallout that endures, & naturally, too.

Think of:

disturbed water

Waterfallling

& waving

&…uh…rapid’ing

only few intrepid enough to ride.

Think of:

disturbed earth

quaking & shifting

great slabs of crust insisting on marvelous peaks

unseen or scaled

by the more grounded man.

Think of:

disturbed core

roiling & spewing

effluvium that

creates islands

of solid stone

hardly any can inhabit.

(permits are a bitch to get, mostly)

Yeah, I’ll take that disturbing label.

That “weird” handle.

If it makes you feel better, but I won’t wear clothes to suit anymore.

Gloves, either.

I will wear my madly

“mis-matched” outfits

mix plaids with ruched satin

tulle with burlap & spikes

short-shorts with turtlenecks

colors of rainbow disregarded,

and no storms necessary for this light show.

I will be impeccable,

as I out

~fit~

hemming in vestments to intricate

Tease & Eyes

flaunting my awesome figures

(all 8’s)

my hourglass shaped

in finite Time

tilted sidewise toward infinite

–possibility

the sands running through me

–shore.

©Karen Robiscoe