Remember your terms.
They are final. It’s good
to have a hook or teeth
to hold onto the ideas.

Reel em back with that
kite movement, brain floating
on its column. Spine shake,
snake bones through the day.

I will hold the endless count of
rooms in the real estate
of desire. Who knows where
the money leads. Compost
has a warm take on reason,
transforms it into a solid mass
to warm raccoon hindquarters.

Every day the accounts settle
themselves. No need to keep track
of the spikes shot into flesh.
My hope is more cowbell.
For life: more cowbell!

—Alice Burdick

via LemonHound.com

with a wink to Mary 😉