ayaladn

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

‘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

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

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

‘Its good you’re going

this way to the blue valley

on the horizon…’

 

Slow clouds cover

that the other wood’d know,

so small a feature,

 

‘tho the farther reach

was always fair before us,

we wait to pre-pair