Gaily (would bark?) my love a-tumbling down a wished well—starch
skin, stark:
naked loose leaf
oblong scribbled in dark.
A Turner turned over onside towards winter-numb
thumbs pressed against, stainless volt; from, or after the meal starts,
Trembling tarts
the oval eye rips ripples
(as you were) a splotch,
—danced, goes my line mumbles nothings as signs above a dot.
Birthday lists (firsts of many I’s) notebooks pile higher, adored and
mounts: moans
us (masquerade a busily boy)
with horns as Beelzebub
around a thorn bush kept secretly as pressed to mourn;
a speck about the milky white—which alter? Why, with much
fortune falters
site: imperfect device
in negatives the nightness scolders—
my lens no more as torn by a BB or foam flown inside; order.
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I enjoy the rhyme in this one, nice work my friend. Glad to see you've been having a pretty steady output.
ReplyDeleteBut is it a glare on
the iris
that sets him so beside his?
For he owns yellowed deck of cards
and spilled upon
ashy tables
she goes a-tremble
at the glass in his socket
fore once it is seen
the eye cannot be forgotten
what is bought is sold
and the cards sing
in cold device
hints of large black coat sleeves
filled with silver
and sharpened tongues
yet she edges
and serpentine
among legs
like queens squashed
in the deck
she covers half his sight
and sets to the work
he won't long forget.
Dude, we gotta talk about what you wrote. You hit the nail. Thanks for checking it all out, bee tee dubya :)
ReplyDeleteOh we will...in more detail.
ReplyDeleteAlso it would be cool if we could get a series of poems that respond to each other and read them