study 117


“i grasp faster than standing stock still”

a fan of tombs is a phantom fanatic
each bit strung
off into     freeze-broken prose
            grisly well-founded
                        sounds from a game when the other team’s hitting
it’s pretty rash to choke back like a fledgling


long slow
maybe that tribe’s a hammer is harmer loathe
to see
to be  of knee in the crawl
flying blind
i know how sleeps tred
maybe a waking   the
flounce     so go a gone
or, never see a love like this
one and one
goes lit too


this manages gah!
and a diver’s rice tins

but not
the gregarious safeguard

it’s a pardner code ode

long crows are poetry of the
living crowed,  the joy of unslam reason
across a space;

or so, for sun hate hicks jive one live scythe

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