People light a candle
To find their way in the dark,
To get a handle
On the hidden with a spark.

People light a can’tdle
To hide the world around them,
To focus on the channel
Into their own brain stem.

Can’t is as good as can
Depending where you need to go,
Your mission may be grand
Or only something you need know.

“It’s purplefect!” Loom liked to say
Of the enticing things
Found day-to-day

That might not have been fit for kings
But fit her purplefect array
Like a six fingered glove

On a five fingered hand,
Perfect with an extra bit to love,
Perfect with something unplanned,

Perfect with more in between
That might not be in much demand
But to Loom was purplefectly seen.

A boy sat with a snake
Who wiggled awake
And promised not to bite.

They slithered together
Whatever the weather
Whether day or night.

This snake sat with that boy
Who rattled with joy
At the scaly sight

Of a friend with a fang
Who carefully sang,
“My friend, you’re my kite,

Pulling my eyes
High to the skies
Till I find myself in flight!”

The boy returned
With a grin well earned,
“My friend, you’re too right!

I fly for you
And we’ll win a view
At some new, wonderful height!”

They slithered together,
Two snakes of a feather
From cloud to cloudy delight.

To those on a mission
To make me hear –
I’ll only listen
With my little ears
If you can give
Me more than words,
Some sound that lives
And bucks and blurs
The lines between
What words you say
And what they mean
And what display
Of sparks and song
Can leap so high
Birds sing along
In ragtime sky
That my ears free
Themselves from head
And thought and me
And whatever said
And fly on off
With dusk and leaves
To see what soft
Sounds stars receive.

They called me goody-two-shoes
So now my feet are bare.
They said that I was just too much
So now I’m barely there.
They whined about my steady stare
So now my eyes are closed.
They whinged that I was too alert
So now I mostly doze.
They wondered at my paleness
So I painted myself blue.
I asked them why they said these things
And they said, “Who are you?”

When do you go
To the end of the row
Of stars on Moony Hill?

What could you grow
Worth a spot in a grove
That never knows the chill

Of night ’cause it’s there
By the garden of ‘mares
With dreams in tailing souls

That sip on the air,
Drinking you bare
To kindly make you whole.

A gallimaufry is a jumble,
A bunch, a messy mass
Of this and that all tumbled
In a soul to somehow pass
As a creature, a beast
That’s burdened by itself
As it’s built up piece by piece
From spare parts off any shelf.
One grows hooves around a wheel,
One has gills and wings,
One has no mouth to eat a meal
But still somehow it sings.
The first finds its way to roads,
The second to the clouds,
The third has an expressive nose
And is harmonious as allowed.
Nature used the oddest math
To get these creatures done.
If life can’t find a worn in path
Trust that it will make one.

You’ll need some extra pockets
Because there’s so much to you.
We’ll sew them on some outfits
To keep you closely to you.
And if you run off naked
You’ll spill into the streets.
That’s fine, it should be stated,
And better for the streets.

If it weren’t normal
She’d be there,
Dressed up all formal,
Flowers in hair,
But not no rose
Nor lilies fine,
No, she grows
A crystal vine
That winds and winds
And winds and winds
Around the world
Then through her mind
And out her curls
It brightly shines,
Lighting her way
By subtle signs
From hidden strays
To rarest finds.

If it were weird
He’d do a jig
With curly beard
Of moss and twigs,
And sometimes mice
And sometimes bats
Would roost all nice
Up in his hat,
And always moose
And always deer
Would whisper clues
Into his ear
Of queerest things
He might discover,
Of course, this brings
Him word of her.

They were both odd
And lovely so.
They were both awed
By strange unknowns.
Both heard there were another
Like them in many ways.
A strangeness lover!
So they spent some days
Searching but were ever late
And never crossed their paths
By some trick of fate
Or maybe fortune’s wrath.
Each were happy knowing
The oddness of defeat.
If one thing kept them going
It’s that there were more to meet.

Huck gave his head to the watermelons
In a trade for one of theirs.
Now his thoughts are full of seeds
While the fruit patch puts on airs.
Now he’s ripe with possibility
And free of heady cares.
How much finer to be full of sweetness
Even though he’s chased by bears.
How his rind shines brighter than his mind
Could ever think to dare.
Huck slept in a bit too late today
And rooted in bed there.
If you don’t like watermelons
I know a pumpkin patch or pears
Who’d trade you for that fruitless head.
Want to replant your upstairs?