‘The crows of course fly before the albatrosses two years evermore…’ You don’t knock the door, you don’t look out the window, no-1 shall be there… altho’, regardless… no matter where the arras, there is a forest
Monthly Archives: January 2013
The Buoy
Chewer of pencils, eraser lips lead the tongu’d window sill’s saurus to backyard hedges, the low starglow, as buoy bluest memory, accedes a friendship to lonelier argosies of the dear land’s pens
Re-cord A
‘I, Marionette… Walk me thru a mummery to the guillotine… ‘It’s a bit wooden; should we use a trampoline…’ Ms Dubb…’& one net’ Otto is too hot, eyes a newt so not surprise tree frogs in a vine
Costume Via Catalog
Bibi’s one sarong Otto’s XL mu-mus ‘Not quite right…’, Ms Dubb in gold gabardine disapproves the damascene, this lay btw OK in a coop & atop a topograph, not the quiet type
Systrum
For the old cargo, two halves a remember’d ship, nothing in the hull as braids the camel’s back with sacks, a city more the way there convey ’til a softness flows, the hoofprints, the caravans ‘thru the wide sands home