Dealing with Happy
Brilliant portions of rough,
cudgels of foreshadow,
cut my teeth silver,
take me for a walk.
I am not never my own man
but a jackal’s coat passed from
thrift store to foster child to
I wish it were better but
sometimes worse. Desperation has a
way of digging up roots,
lifting obsidian to the sun,
incinerating the alarm clock.
Once in a great while I decide to dance.
I have never not once regretted it.
From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV