so it wasn’t just imagination,
the sensation of being eaten,
bit, bloodsuckers, but bloodsuckers,
no it couldn’t be mosquitoes
the eve of Halloween though there were those
vibrations from the violas
needing a tuning; but these
afternoons have harkened to a feel

of a June and there she is
at the window, fat from a sunrise
preacher lady power breakfast,
and buxom with a furry shawl,
just lucky she can’t fit through the screen,
but she’ll figure it, is figuring now,
is scoping, so shall figure out,

on the night it is officially
Halloween. Who’d ever thought mosquitoes
learned of special human dates?
Then again, that’s exactly what they’d do.


About come to timmy

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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