over with the dandelion push

hard to
improv
once the dandelions
arrive,
he told me ..

sure,
snow,
tulip blooms,
red fall leaves,
walkers,
runners,
broken,
found,
all of it
can keep me goin',
nor even hitch me a bit
and
then spring comes ..

have to put the sax away
until the dandelions
wilt into spores ..

all the little yellow dots,
they look
like a yard of taxis or a field
of school busses,
just shuts down the hands
and
makes my mind wonder ..

that ain't any way to improve
for a man with the lung capacity
as mine,
he said ..

so,
when all the dandelions are done,
I run out and blow all the spores into the air
on one fine day
and
dream

about the next woman,
line,
miracle,
note,
scent,
chance,
album
or

piece that
will into the grand
trash receptacle
I
call
'THE MIND' ..