“No limits, just edges.”
–Jackson Pollack
You were so fantastic, reminded me of Gene Wilder
with wild eyes, green and lashed, red hair spun
by Rumplestiltskin into breakers that broke at your forehead,
something primeval in the way you understood the world,
a Willy Wonka who spoke, but did not speak
the same language as the rest of us yokels. So throw me a golden
apple, a chili cheese pretzel dog, hand-outs
from a drive-through window where black and white
cats dance the Tacomania; after hours we’ll meet
at the Sweet Deal poker machine, and for one last time
place bets, take our chances, sweep the swamp.