Yearlong sonnet-- Iteration 23

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

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