close to the LexPoMo solstice
weary from hours of writing
scanning and commenting
we have poems to workshop
yet keep losing our way
images baffling, ideas cryptic
Are we just plain tired?  

references bounce giddily around the room:
yardsticks         wildfires          rosary beads   
a poem as an egg with a horse inside
Big Easy taxi driver turned writing prof
grapefruit spoons           pastiche of peaches   
knives      flashbulbs       satellites      Christian radio
clothes plucked from someone else’s laundry  

puzzling our way through these scattered gems,
ah! one breath of consensus:   Yes, that is a terrible title.