Gaily (would bark?) my love a-tumbling down a wished well—starch
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,
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
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
site: imperfect device
in negatives the nightness scolders—
my lens no more as torn by a BB or foam flown inside; order.