Betty’s legend 4/16/03
Whenever the crashing
arctic swells splash onto
the base of your denims
and you still believe it a
wonderfully fair sky
because of the sapphire
hue of your stare,
a bolt of lightning,
a river of power,
a zap of Zeus, if you will,
will lead you on a fit
of disdain as newly nomadic
as dandelions dancing
on spring time air
that land so softly
and touch your lips
like a fairy, angel perhaps,
sent in with a surge of
many outshining shields,
sharing with you whatever
it has until that day when
you take that fateful
stride in which friction
fails between your foot
and the frigid floor
and sends you careening
back down to your couch
in a thud of dust
and confusion. Child,
you’ve heard it before,
whatever I tell you
three times is true.
-Matthew Harri
I have no idea…honestly
