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.
The Thread Is Red 