A tremendous paisley.
Thunderclouds crushing the horizon.
A force like that can only be --
Me and that bovine muddling
purely instinctual
syringes of fluff -- well it's better
let's crunch down on popsicles and straw.
We're five-ways goners;
Now you're reading this like code.
Six paces closer to fantastical estates.
The shades are drawn,
pearl-handled butter knives,
beagles clamouring for macaroni
liver snaps, crisped furrows
between the wheat and corn.
My past leaves hoofprints on your heart.
Sallow hopscotch and jumping nerves;
all before it's over
let's run the sunrise up,
smiles dangling from the edges.

Susan Smith Nash

February 11, 2003