Brittany Lives.

But only as a ghost on Shotwell Street.

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Do it, everybody. Its a great way to ask yourself if you think I'm special, which is what this blog is all about. Totally!

Nuts

Just when you think
there's not a bird's unsung
and just when the very last
cricket is wrung
out for every
twitter and tweet!

That's when your eyelids
start spinning their gates
and your skin
starts its peeling undone

That's when I'll reach you
and pull on your hair
and that's there the moment
when I'll ask you, I'll stare!
just who
it is
that I'm pulling
and for how
it is
that I'm spunning
undone-ing
you see

for how it is
that with spindly legs
like a cricket in spring
and a spindly sound
like the haunted
red wings
(who haunt now the heron, our pond)
I've come on forgotten
my song

and left
I am only
with a sputtering tongue
slickering saturn
of what once begun
and tired with the
stale taste of ashes
but oh
she's SLOW as molasses!

this hand song's a grip, son
and she wants your hair
and I think if we can now
we ought to be fair
just give her a lock
to take home
come on home.

Then I'll send her to bed.
and in the din
of their spindles
in the weight
of their dark
little legs
in the hope of a per-
haps
a just haps!
a song
we can sleep some
before night is gone.