she’s the sweetest thing on wheels today
she’s water-cooler cool
she’s hatless and inspired
she’s rattling lost teeth in a mason jar
she’s popeyed and wondering about puce buttons on a sleeve
she’s calling all the pigeons by name
she’s breaking every weak-kneed weekend heart around here
she’s throwing daffodils from the tops of parking garages
she’s bundled up in all of my favorite colors
she’s chucking M&Ms at streetlights
she’s using parking meters for walking sticks
she’s hassling cops for quips
she’s moonlighting as a cellist
she’s a hurt worth having
she’s championing paper rings
she’s losing everything on purpose
she’s not so lucid anymore
she’s baking cookies only to sink them in a bathtub filled with milk
she’s a hard nut to crack
she’s scraping off moss from the rocks at the beach with a screwdriver
she’s on the hunt for xylophones
she’s a well-fed hamster sleeping in its wheel
she’s going on the lam with headphones and a jar of mud
she’s only open at odd hours
she’s arm wrestling sofas
she’s bunting with two strikes
she's directing traffic with a baton
she’s walking across a thousand football fields
she’s impressed by the wings of moths
she’s a jukebox playing in a deserted café
she’s guiding the sound of goodbye back home
she’s picking somebody else’s nose
she’s saving up her moodiness for a sunny day
she’s surfing on a rocking chair
she’s a sucker for a guy in cowboy boots
she’s never met a clown she liked
she’s laughing at the weather report
she’s incessantly mischievous
she’s mad at the wallpaper
she’s a whooping cough away from forever blue skies up ahead
she’s who she is not sometimes
she’s a rollicking and a reeling and a face hid under a too-big-for-her-head hood
she’s a little like everyone whom you’ve ever known
she’s only what she is and nothing more
she’s a mustache away from a complete game
she’s ollying over cartons of eggs
she’s a mushroom cloud of forgiveness
she’s lapping up Cactus Cooler from a breadbox-size mug in the shade of Juniper trees
she’s a missed bus
she’s close enough but not enough too
she’s mending the chances that you never took into harmless dungeon shoes
she’s replacing the sash on the curtains with a giant rubber band
she’s hanging rusty bicycle chains from the chandelier
she’s cutting up an accordion with a paring knife
she’s pouring gasoline on a busted typewriter
she’s sewing the seams in the remains of her dreams
she’s pulling the plug on the ordinariness of being her
she’s changing tires with a dowsing rod
she’s putting on airs for the hummingbirds
she’s at a loss for pictures
she’s doing the Lindy Hop during an earthquake
she’s swallowing gum
she’s hard to impress
she’s a pretzel in a bag of crackers
she’s pulling for all the underdogs
she’s had more than her share of disappointment
she’s mistaking angels for mildew stains
she’s got snowflakes of lint in her hair
she’s up a tree
she’s got a platypus slowly cooking in a Crock-Pot by a vase of wilting geraniums
she’s a know-nothing living in a do-nothing world
she’s craving salt in a life that’s all freshwater
she’s a budding bloom of cheerfulness
she’s quoting Günther Anders at the dinner table
she’s all marmalade and hokie charades
she’s mustering rag dolls of courage
she’s swindling lampposts out of their light
she’s intermittently intrepid
she’s as gullible as Saint Francis of Assisi
she’s overly combustible at times
she’s inclined towards relish
she’s dangling from the Big Dipper’s bowl
she’s not a leap but a jump
she’s constructing a chain-mail suit out of duct tape
she’s roughing it in style
she’s imploding while catching raindrops in her bellybutton
she’s the aftereffects of jasmine on the breeze
she’s outlandish
she’s slicing radishes into thin strips
she’s outrunning machines
she’s murdering popsicle sticks
she’s one of nothing and everything of one
she’s splintering into the eyes of deceit
she’s being wheeled away on a candy-cane chariot
she’s understanding of leafless trees
she’s fourth and inches
she’s cutting her own hair in the bathroom mirror
she’s got eyes bigger than any circus tent
she’s hailing cabs with candelabras
she’s throwing a tuba in the ocean on a moonless night
she’s hastily scrawling my name on the hood of a parked car with a highlighter
she’s all out of freckles
she’s busy listening to the sky dance
she’s a part-time thing
she’s yodeling in an empty parking lot at sunrise
she’s just a paint can away from being alright
she’s getting out while the getting still gets her goat
she’s everything that a dime won’t buy back from your dreams
she’s nothing earth shattering
she’s not you
she’s never me
she’s just always sometimes what everyone will forever be
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