sunday morning scones

Marbles blue picked from bush

heel turn, cooking is child’s play.

Sneaky dough-eating, flour-breathing puff

dragons caught from the eye in the corner of

mom’s eye pinching the runts out of the bowl

to the sound of C. Parker, “Yardbird”.

The scent of his sound wafts through the air,

swingin’ that love scent called from a hot lit-up backstage

with eyes watchin’, noses smellin’ the

one-hand swooping dip.

The applause of  hungry bellies.

Take your bow.

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This entry was published on July 1, 2012 at 2:25 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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