God grant me the serenity
to go really loony and start collecting all the things
whose names I really love.
Roadmaps of towns like What Cheer, IA for example.
Packets of frangipani and white triumphator.
While I'm at it, maybe sticks and stones
from all the places I'll travel all alone with books in tow,
both blank ones and ones with lines-filled-in.
Shells too, obviously, or yeah!
a labeled jar for each beach's peculiar salad
of stones, sands, plants, and shellfish debris.
(E.g. Useless Bay: crushed mussel shells &
barnacles, gray stones, coarse sand.)
Oh- and more old typewriters like my Skyriter to clack out
lyrics I like a lot and passages from the aforementioned
books, and the beach jar labels, of course.
Grant me the courage to display all this stuff,
including the books - yes even the Beebo Brinker Chronicles,
all over my home; and the wisdom to only invite people in
who want nothing more than to drink something hot
like chocolate or cider or one of my thousands of teas
with names like Bee Balm and Honeybush
and be changed.
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