What evidence would three frogs be?
say you,
say you,
say–
the soothsayer-me and a deck of cards,
a large round glass, future, past
and a small clip of hair. Trickery comes
from a hickory chip that burns
years, incandescent fears lie
against a tea cup. And a kettle turns.
Drink up,
drink up. Wheels spin
like a bottle; "pick me"
as an Orphan's cry crosses Jupiter.
A bed's been made
to resemble a crib, and the bars
could be cages, wages or beer.
Depends on the year.
Depends on the debt.
Depends on the frogs.
Hick-up.
Hick-up. The third one follows
along for the ride
inside a pocket
of a shirt
clipped by a clothespin
on a laundry line
and a basket
is always filled, waiting.
Depends on the moon,
if she's light
her shadow will cast
puppets on dirt,
and it depends
whether the sun rises on time,
at the time it rises.
Say you,
say you–
old Soothsayer-me
and three frogs
sip tea. We play cards
and discuss
underpants,
future, past.
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