BLOWING WITH THE LEAVES
Nothing crunches better than dry leaves.
Children, kittens, puppies gather
for hill rolls in the patchy grass.
There was a jingle that filled the pungent air.
Maybe it is time for a radio station
to plug into one of the closer planets.
Demos from Dylan were stacking up on the Moon.
A misplaced iron was left in the growing local fires.
Closing down filled my smoky head for the night.
I stopped tracking my dusty mythology at dawn.
Blood pressure has left town for the Alps.
There are red beans in my Vietnamese drink.
Amazon has refused to send me anything until the wind changes.
A quizzical knee bump had my cats jumping for joy.
A dulcet voice from San Pedro made the patchy grass stand up.
I like to sleep with my band instruments facing toward the South Pole.
I will be needed in Northridge on the next day
for impromptu otherworldly purposes involving leaf classification.
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