Sunday, February 27, 2011

party dream

I have a sleeping hand-
I can reach into time
make people spill
through an open door
and smile-each wanting
an embrace as welcome.
Taking turns, like
planes, to speedily-express
themselves to me.
and my body gives forth
something that busts
out of my chest.
and I am feeling like the
single, (most) adorable,
(as I roll into a
deeper groove
and ignore my
bruised rib.)
person I was.

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Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

Poets United Contributor