A foggy head

laying low in a foggy heart.

A ragged start.

A sinus silo

filling in with pressure grain.

What a pain.

Little I think

above the mucus descent.

My thoughts are bent.

A nasal muse

a mist to be sprayed.

How I prayed.

I saw my dad with a Kleenex

hanging from the right side of

his nose.

Time froze

as I remembered him saying

hello with the dangling

participle waving in the wind.

I guess it is better than

watching a drop form on

the tip of his facial protrusion.

I’ve watched that too.

His leaky facial facet

running up a bill.

I wanted to tighten his ear

to dam up the trickle.

Lefty loosey, righty tighty.

I suppose the muse cut through

the mucus today

and I am on my way.