(Silliness for a grey day)

Oh, mischievous bawd of words
Silk-shaggy fragments            
Nocturnally-curious phrases  
Snuffling apothegms  

I have shepherded over the year
Clucking and snorting your importance
But never quite fitting any poetic pasture  

Wild doodles of glory                                         
Scribbled in the margins of my life
Like some lost love letter to Elvis  

Shoved aside like expired sauerkraut
Left to stew in the raw juices
Of your own making  

Corralled in the nethers of some closet
Hobnobbing with bent wire hangers
Dust balls hosted by spiders  

But it’s June
And I’ve opened your giddy gates           

Look both ways
Before crossing the page
Head home
When the streetlights come on      

*No critters were harmed during this writing, and I apologize for any mess they might leave on your lawn.