Miracles

I've been
talk-walking
my way past the
gate, around the corner
to the drugstore,
bridged by two a.m.
miracles and a pair
of diamond bracelets
that have already lost their
dull insanity.

Concerned by crows
shading my child's answers
from a three-green-clover sun,
I imagine
a Granny Smith apple
living without the worn worm.
Roses and an umbrella
promise your content so far with
my choices;
my pencil-sharpening sharp mind,
crying out for the crispy cackle
of those beloved three witches,
of whom I fear the fourth the first.
For it goes without saying,
the conscience we find sinning with
evil we also find doing a two-step
with the existential good.

Waitwhatdidyoujustsay?

Can't hear a damn thing with this
finger resting on my lips;
my voice has gone blind
with the subtle hints of sanity
my jewelry's given off lately.
He's kissing his way across
a bank of bravado,
crowing with a Denver
moon at his back.
He’s missing that day when
the criss-cross patter-laughter
touched the sun's
coffee mug.