it’s a stare-roid –

with a big wheel to steer,

into the clear.

puffs of smoke,

in shapes like a ghost –

in a believe it,

carry the light,

and be a scrappy happy –

make like grappling

the rocks from the mountains,

throughout the centuries,

clinching to pieces,

in the mix of a mason’s heart,

as if pressing the air and the rust

into preservation’s mortar,

in a get lost in a rustic song

feeling the bonds of life –

make like unification’s

become a strength of achievement.

far into the woods

as I beat my drum,

linking nets of words –

catching a catch

along the edges

of a deep dark forest….

find only kin

with this spin.

it’s a write aid –

stand up made maid

behind me in a –

seamstress mistress flowing

in white cloths,

and swirling in all her threads.

the elevator is rising…

ready to rip

through the tarpaulin!