Supposition

Supposition

Being on the edge,

more on the outside

than most,

it takes talent

to put flowers

in my hair.

Sifting through

The Lock and The Key

busy building a beehive

in strange moonlight.

I have bought 

strings of pearls,

sat across from ideals

wrapped in semi-expensive 

pinstriped pencil-skirts.

Dreaming of an apple

and the liquor,

auditory;

the push behind the words.

The sentence,

the intent.

Slamming the plunger 

on my dime-store Bic,

writing with feeling,

or not so.

Cueing in on supposition,

letting the coffee cool

and tapping my feet.