Maps That Scream

blue green green blue
green blue green through dark
stainglass rose tints flicker
garden shadows recede in wickers

lips pluck and plucker fleshy around a note surpassed
a Dizzy Gillespie b;ast of trumpet which sets me reeling
down the steep canyons of my past
I feel witty, Missy.  I feel  misty, too.

I feel willy nilly, Mister, and silly, too.
I feel like the wabbit in Alice.  Oh, pray, I beseech thee
leave me not feeling wabbit, for my transformer hums
and my loins are firing bolts of lightning.

Kindly understand that as in the building of a wall
first you slap the mortar, then you set the bricks,
so in the stew of chaos music swims.  In fact.
were it not for chaos, we'd have strait silence.

This in brief, this in britches is the swelling
this time of month that bells the weather.
The name is Maps, my thoughts run rampant
my spring runs rampant and crimson, too.