crayola w/haints, crayola w/out

crayola was reading a bouillon cube in her quonset
hut when a hatch in the corrugated ceiling opened
up & a spectre shot inside, it looked like a hillbilly
fluttering through a shroud of pepto-bismol except

under its arm it carried a cribbage board made out
of matchwood & tucked into its lapel was a velcro
boutonniere. crayola called her quonset a habitat
in extremis, an entrance to a vast dance of visions

she approached w/out any expectations of return,
the spectre as ever handing her its cribbage board
& pulling out of a bowling bag the headlight from
a '37 desoto to candle her way to the world of one.

Jeffrey Little | Mudlark No. 15
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