Leaving well enough alone,
I left; allowing the bubbles
frothing on my flat-patterned
skimming to go unnoticed.
It takes big girl Daddy-bones
to build something like this --
some hoop-slammin' damn of a dunk
grand slam auto.
Ribs
cracked silly as a saw-toothed grin,
my skull's land mass
migrates in crippled pieces thin
as bad pottery.
There's a reunion of pieces
on the dashboard.
This car is a stained glass cathedral,
my skull a bitter, ceramic bowl.