Yearlong sonnet-- Iteration 22

the future (in back of a warden of the sleep sheep)


Every lesson is comb a toes
muttering to hours being all get along w. those
healing bruises across lit fields
aisle-sharing,  is the way a verb glows

all secrets are lickable, what it yields
is.  mass-observation’s a kind of clothes,
all dripping Rothko blue,
(don’t matter what he wields, too)

bodiless:   cranky
when you squint you know how they shrug
at the sides like it might budge;
agenda lost in the hanky-panky
posture’s always a bit sticky:-
paralytic password sez,  grudge