a.
“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
B.
long slow
maybe that tribe’s a hammer is harmer loathe
to see
to be of knee in the
crawl
intramural
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
see.
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
No comments:
Post a Comment