Some Pomes.

1

I, blabbard haggard nape of froth.

Climby upward swingeth Shasta happy cloth.

Drapery.

Dimble, nimble, mimby hop dop nop,

I bop, you bop, they bop, we bop.

Hopeful

Nor shameful, baneful, excreticus. STOP.

With cameltoe or without, I shout.

Harpy!

My delight, such a sight!

Ayk! Trample great mushrooms to the ground.

In a round. Without a sound.

Biddledydoop!

I shample. I dapple. I brue.

Aye Bothscotch im shue.

Too true, too true.

> >

Wobble, warble, and coo.

If fevered pitch doth ensue, call a lawyer and sue.

Nogales, No money, no house, no shoe.

Popple, Pople, and Pooh.

> >

I see you.

I sue you.

2

I spent my last breath over a burning ember.

On tall order form feed tube steak knife's edge:

Untwisting Vining Davis in Jefferson We must.

Paddock we hate behavior and injure,

The sodden and the downtrodden, three A's, four F's in a list.

When we walked we never talked - only listened.

The stale, the quiet, the hesitancy, you see...

The story lied for itself and no one ever

could be reached for a blame.

IT'S HAPPY.

IT'S WHISKEY.

IT'S WIDE-OPEN SKY.

Terrible sky. Opening.

SKY OPENING!

It needs explaining - (get to complaining).

I speak of nothing. It holds. I bear this while.

It is my own in rains, shadows, and beams of light in the misty keep

of this sylvan heap. Shimmer.

As I am, I am wicked, this fucker of trenchant widowed skeleton

Pancreatic wilted mould shoulder and would I end that cancer

that grows over and over and over and no one

can do anything about it but say that it is God's Will?

And Testament! - open sores that bleed

and bleed and we never shower for fear of incurring the lime

that will all hold us underneath.

Torrid burning and burning. Smoulder, smoulder.

Reap.

Car. Sin. Oh. Gin.

There is nothing left worth saying, sayeth the Lord.

And quietly slipping he away into a Colorblind's glance;

Shunned purveyance and muster.

Keep it from escaping,

This decaying:

Knife's edge

Praying

Say

Not

This,

Not

This

TIME.