we all say
things we
don’t mean
to
mean until
they are
said.
the clouds over
the switchgrass
swear they
are just
passin’ thru.
today they are
the only orators
in Oz.
Our words dissolved
like a dusty
jackrabbit—
too proud to
lie in the rain.
I’ve been tweaking this for quite a while and I can’t get it to where I like it. I hate when that happens. All too often.