Dingle dongle

Photo by Nicolas Postiglioni from Pexels

Dangle my legs over the edge.
Prairie dawg, diggity.
Prance for a chance, for a change,
dance for my supine supper, dinner.

Blasted phartsplaking dumbledooner, flapsklap.

Keep your powder dry,
use it on your nose in the powder room
black smudge, graceless gray.

Slanging, hanging, banging,
Banged, bang-bang,
Bam-bam’s barefoot fiddle,
Faddle, diddle, doodle, poodle.

Slime, sperm, spurned 
on my chest,
somnamble bosom,
cheated at birth.

Piffle, boodleslapper, dart-dinging, scruplesnorter.

Specific soporific,
Tear inducing, deductive
Prattle, spittle, dribble
between them.

That was definitely not what I expected when I sat down to write today. It started with an ode to 13: Triskaidekaphobia. I had plans, so many convoluted plans, in my fragrant brain, scattered, sprinkled, crinkled, not knowing where to start. Then I stuck Berio’s Sinfonia * on Spotify, and all became kaleidoscopically clear.

*No video, but by far the best recording.

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