by Cornelia Rohde
need to pick a gypsy punk outfit
for tonight’s mosh pit,
finish the sonata-allegro movement
of my new symphony,
and distill more Jimmy Jango rum.
(I’ll add more paint stripper to make it
taste less like embalming fluid.)
I will also repair my kite-surfer, clean out the pigs’ sty,
buff the silver punch bowl, kill and pluck
pigeons for the hawk’s dinner,
before I’m collected to go zip-lining.
Or maybe I’ll just sit here tracking a feather’s drop.