I dream of scissorhands.
In this dream, I wake.
I see shredded bedsheets.
Flying feathers.
Bulging batting from my mattress.
My wife stands by the bedside,
saucer-eyed and staring.
These new prosthetics…
She points to the front yard in black night.
Go and trim the shrubbery she says.
I go out, clanking in dangling pajamas.
I know the one she means…
It’s a twenty footer, my pride and joy.
I grew it from seed, I think.
How old am I ?
But it is unruly.
Top heavy, jutting this way and that, like a bad haircut.
I set to work with my digital glittering knives.
(Always liked the sound of scissors, close by the ear,
warm barber’s hands)
I snip and slice and nip, so nice.
What will we see, in the lights of day?
We wonders, yes we wonders.
After all, you’re keeping me in the dark.
On editing a post..

Wonder – full!
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☺ Fabulous!
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Haha…thank you!
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You bet! I just discovered your blog…its going to go well with morning coffee!
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