i am the count
of the clover patch
i visit the lily pad
and do the smoking leprechaun
i am the sheik
of the swinging sands
i blend my thoughts
and push them
as camels through
the eye of a needle
i am the doctor
of destroyed mansions
rubble on the brain
scribbling scripts for neighbors,
friends and fam
i bleed from one ear randomly
through my hands i hear
i am the maid
of suspended morning
working the broom of princess hair
into a scoop of gold dust
broker of bed bugs
swindler of silver fish
i scrub the hallowed floors
where angels walk
i am the chef
of the cajun eggshell
i forage in my skiff
upon a bourbon branch
easing into the pacific
an infinity of ingredients
for one final days dish
bell rings twelve times
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