Just for the hell of it,
you took out scissors
and cut up the sky.
Mostly clipped shapes
of the svelte female hip,
water jugs,
Cheshire leers,
grinning way the blades opened
and closed.
Loose raiments curled, torn, wrung,
flying
limp as old bed linen kids jump on,
ripping when the wind blows.
This is what's left of my
ceiling,
helter-skelter
puzzle,
mansion of the mind.
