Solstice before maps

An embroidered lung

rests upon fluffy four-ton clouds,

heedless of peaked protuberances.

Lasso a lumberjack cradling coffee

with hair falling like comets;

ignore the missing green corduroy

and always remember

the red vest with special patterned trim.

Voyages meant something when we had

no maps or agendas.

We were never sailors but

we knew how to lick lollipops

and celebrate solstice like children amok.

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