Speak mystic magpie.
Call Raven, Crow and Hen
to fire the feminine.
Red painted nails flick sticky words
at art, chase down metaphor’s with a
staple gun. One stone drops
to the bottom of fifty years,
sends round messages returning on themselves,
spins drama from perception’s spider silk.
She rewrites her resume’ impurpetuity,
maid, mama, artist, gardner, grandma, goddess,
lover, indian chief, expert, in charge of
crop circles …… alias; Poet.
