Whine The Wind For Another Tale

Trickling some laughs and rippling steam,
allow my hands to palm the curve,
and smell my sense and shake the salt.

Ears and waves her boiler-room shy,
trust the touch; the experience of age.
Smell your sense and shake it hard.

Dance toes on scratch-grass roads, feel
the boil, touch the lip – don’t leave me alone.

Touch the sense and push it through.
Tap dance girls all smell the same.
Goofied smiles, such nervous sounds –
skin-squealed up like boards of steel.

Whine the wind for another tale.
Just some love for Summer, just
pickled stuff.

2010 Barry Comer

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About Barry Comer

I volunteer as a design and communications consultant with Family Scholar House in Louisville, Kentucky, http://www.familyscholarhouse.org the Democratic Socialists of America http://www.dsausa.org and teach children with emotional and developmental disabilities. I have degrees in art and was an art director for 30 years.
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