Potion Crossing
by Joe Dickinson
shadowed suns cross paths with God
(it’s just a word,
like vagina)
the plastered pied pipers pipe a song
of glory for me and my compatriots
as we dance along to the yearly
exchange of snubbing we give
to our dearly beloved.
shadowed pasts make nothing, except for
a broken glass next to a broken cloud
(the sun was shining in,
it could have)
for dinner she ate five rolls
and steak diamonds...freedom
waltzing to the tambourine man’s beat.
they are beating you in the face,
it’s your duty
not to accept defeat.
it’s a nice day,
(that was a nice day),
sure glad to be in it,
(sure wish i could go back to it).