Back to schooner
Back room
Vacuum
Your bag, sir
Going stag
Up tossing
Little lad
Kids to raise kids and
Dropping dead
But not sneezing
Fleas in the head
Who knew better
Mrs. Butterworth
Folded arms and
Pressed pockets
If I ever see you again
Utilize you
Embrace what I could not be a part of
Knock you on your ever loving ass
Spread out and dandy
Dirty as the day is
Song of Abraham
With no hand to guide the cord
Sometimes the simplest
Evoking simplex
Never communicating through me
Your dusty bag
That unhatched cabbage
All frilly with folds
Only tightened to a bulb
And flushed from the system
Never missing
One beat but all
An entire galaxy
With tag and gift receipt
Pleats in bad places
Fleet footed and sugared
Deemed a sassy tiger
Begging expected success
Unrest for homeland
Cadillac Brougham land
The ballast so wobbly
Foible full and groggy
Soggy lungs no fun
Taking care of pebbly, rocky
Rebel in audible area
More earnestly tigery
Vaguely accountable for final touch
The process somewhat alarming
But making total sense
Abrupt and necessarily so
--
4.1.10
Comments