This day is cracked
open like the eggs
I cannot buy or borrow.
I am sorry to report
that your cake
will be a bird fighting
the wind,
crossed scissors,
or a joker.
So instead you get
an anagram.
A star, or rats?
Live or evil?
Mood or doom?
Sovereign of grump
coiled in my brain,
take a nap.
Whorl, whirl
for better words.
Life is poetry
gives us gazelles
of possibility.
Your birth
life is poetry
charcoal eyes
feister ploy
all past, present,
and future verse
eerily if stop
Today you are 28,
a hawthorn wreath.
Plant each black pansy
seed we sent
free soil pity
and imagine us
laughing together
at yeti profiles,
I frostily pee,
riot if sleepy,
refile it posy,
feel spirit, yo.
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