For Bridget – (to whom I owe a poem)

It’s a heady mix,
this highball filled with
one shot procrastination,
one of longing,
a little lime juice,
and a dollop of fear.
It burns good all the way down
but doesn’t stop there
but seeps and oozes
and occasionally flows freely
churning and digging always deeper
forming yet another slot
in my desert canyonland
not grand, yet,
but give it time.
They say water is
the strongest erosional force on the planet,
the biggest harbinger of change,
but they’ve never created,
not really, or are divorced
by time from their glue sticks and glitter.
I’ve been etched and gullied,
have my share of metamorphoses
but I still shout obscenities
when my kite won’t fly.

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Poetry, photos, musing

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