and cold, someone left me a/
heart. I wonder who?

He’d always grown both/
daisies and roses, but he/
liked wildflowers best.
Of course I waited/
at the country/
county crossroads.
Who wants to get hit/
by a tanker truck/
full of shit?
When I invite you
to listen to
the flash of brilliance
and the crash of thunder
from my words,
I do not ask
for edits,
or opinion,
or help.
I simply
invite you to join me,
standing on the dock,
watching the storm approach
and roll
and form.
I ask you to dance
on the wind with me,
no matter what
your movements may be,
no matter what
my jam may look like.
But please don’t tell me
to do a Demi plié
when I want
to play air guitar.