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Antlers

Crisp morning, sheets
whipping in the wind, they
follow the street jauntily.

Everything dazzles, invading
their heads as if they are
antenna tuned to the slightest

nuances in atmosphere.
Clickety, click, like the taps
we put on our shoes

in junior high, to be cool--
the sound of ourselves--
everything dazzled at our feet.

I am amazed and wowed how often your poems bloom naturally into such surprising and lovely endings. This piece does this as well. Kudos

Hi Billy,

I read and heard the classic "the low spark of the high-heeled boys" (Steve Winwood with Traffic)

from the early 70s, when I was a new teen and everything was dazz'ling - I was jazzed with music,



Michael (MV)

Thanks Bob and Michael

Love Traffic, Michael