Tintinnabulum (Weedspeak #1)
I, Foxglove, root in all that is roughed up & manned through-
a snapdragon pouts, but I, I am open-mouthed,
a string of bells singing - mottled notes stuck still on my tongues.
Come the gold season I pinch my lips
over prodigy. We are a rack of rattles & laugh like rain.
The force of days persuades my lips to part-
my children drain from me and dream
beneath a sowbug's weaving feet.
I live on Vashon Island, where I get to sell used and antique books and write when luck and the work urge strike. Melanie Noel
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