I hogwashed the noon

I hogwashed the noon at midday’s
strike; the hen of my moon is

telling me to go and rise above
flotsam. I say, “flotsam is not what

it is.” Epistemology confounds the
hen and it circumvents argument

calling, “afraid, afraid!” Yet
there is silence in the cull of

the argumentative hen; its moon
is red with soothe and I rest my case.

7 comments on “I hogwashed the noon

  1. Lovely! Why don’t you collate your poems into a book? I would definitely purchase a copy of the book.

  2. mrsorenson says:

    This poem is wonderful because it sends out messages in so many directions, and yet encases them in such sparkly semantic skin. Thanks very much.

  3. Melissa Shaw-Smith says:

    Oh this tickled me enormously. Love that poor confused hen.

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