which shoes may wear down
iris a meadowland lark
even bobolinks
lingering juncoes
ring-neck pheasants spatterdock
wide dew harem cock
Spot in the poppies
yellow a bud a buttercup
our maid she’ll get through
Poetry
which shoes may wear down
iris a meadowland lark
even bobolinks
lingering juncoes
ring-neck pheasants spatterdock
wide dew harem cock
Spot in the poppies
yellow a bud a buttercup
our maid she’ll get through
perhaps it is red
a camel far from Egypt
Clio’s patrician
once on a blue rug
the scroll of a fringe selah
an asperity
a fate a tatter
what mystery hidden
an hyacinth sea
from a riverbed
no water only wheels rode
watch out one time when
lookout crick a neck
noose or lasso cast a net
drop it ore nugget
drag it still restive
a rest-up but no spittoon
low blue bottle barr’d
how to keep a pen-
guin in a cloister aisle still
ask him that yourself
we cant a loud speech
searching through a neigh-borne wood
nothing is more good
that you nowhere hear
infinite a minimal
four dozen minnows
I put the billy
goat bubbl’d in a washtub
when I sleep he slips
one time clipping by
inextricable shall do
in a picket fence
call him Butterhead
that way he is on the loose
in the Pyrenees