A yellow ghost if there ever was one

At least some mustard was left behind,

Scrawled on a napkin, an ode to it’s forefathers and it’s predecessors,

those who came before and the ketchup that would inevitably come after,

                              the bloodshed that will inevitably come after.

surviving surging waters,

riptides and tidal waves,

when the levees broke,

and the valleys swelled,,,,,,,,

tiptoeing around the bedrock and the limestone,

                                                                                      Cruising in limousines instead,

Swimming with the mermaids, and then declining their dinner invitation.

the pointed silverware,

the painted silverware,

the only treasure here,

That stick up like blades of  newly sown grass, or like newly minted  tombstones,

or swords thrust into  the earth.

the bloodshed that will inevitably come after.

A fistful of fresh clay, falls in between careful fingers.

A yellow ghost if there ever was one,

spinning yellow webs in the yellow corner of the yellow room,

A yellow talisman,

blessed by yellow empires,

forged in yellow fire,

forged in yellow fire,

Practicing calisthenics, like  the wildflowers that blow with passing cars,

moving side to side  shortly after knee surgery,

A hula dancer, glued to a dashboard, along with a prayer,

                                   …and a doctors note

glowing like a firefly,

retracting like a piston,

crisping like a piece of toast left too long.

looking well past today, with the help of a spyglass,

The crystal ball was used to make a chandelier, so we could see.

looking directly into the labyrinth, no minotaur in sight,

and a clock steadily ticking…


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