Exposed sky covers itself with clouds.
Extreme extinction endlessly on the cusp.
Make no mistake when cooing.
Make no swallows of ginkgo-numeric tea.
The barn awaits a clean sweep.
The barn stores folk songs in the loft.
Unimaginable pain fleets an uncertain future.
Unrequited pain finds a bar and orders.
I understand you meant your other Yes.
I depend upon the impossibility of your No.
No ticker-tape rains on our parade.
No jazz to twist into balloons over our heads.
Sequined words sewn on a poem sparkle.
Shoulder blade cuts steak into bitesized pieces.
This morning will return in March reruns.
This evening bruises all the good girls and boys.
God’s plan, all in tatters, drifts on streets as litter.
God’s trinity is boycotted as a good ol’ boys club.
I create a suit to clothe your needs.
I tattoo a star spangled tie to your chest.
Copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
This poem is a fancy made from word play and stream of consciousness. If you find a deeper meaning to it, please educate me with a comment.