she is a child with sticky fingers

She ran away from home
off from the one brown bench and making friends
with the blue heron with silver wings.

Her sticky fingers
ran skipping through raw and naked waves
during hurricane Floyd’s slip and slide.
Sliced air in spirals swirling
while smoking opium in a
red wig and rainbow Mardi Gras dress
with her new friends,
and the Allman brothers.

Again and again, she licked and
returned for seconds,
loving that manic dancing frantic excitement

almost as much as
the crushing low.

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