Poetry – Page 299

mummers, mimes, & doppelgang, every hub & field, mon belles, &&, 1/8th pinafore

rest, assures the agency, but go home, & she falters from the walker, left wing on the floor

1 pg’d sirocco, modiste kalpini at pella, upper attic, her hand zephyrous, what’s athabascan

a pretense of is, hoodoo for seems, if to irregular than aircraft, 3 engineers in hospital draw lofts

one eigth forth of one to under third degree palms & toes & too many dates like these – so munch as mama said it’s summertime not the why of livin’ easy