ayaladn

as was Rose,

in her plaids

& white blouses,

gray sweater’d

as a cat’s;

& the howling

below 2nd flat

on the street

east to west —

so-called North —

was the buck as

given the vet;

did I know

the table was set

extra guess

more than I

as an iamb

among just as

the same, for

all that that

they say is

to life & no end

I was not

@first borne

riding a bus,

‘tho an underpass

< that way

led to Gramma’s;

up ahead,

dear hunter,

I said, now &

then, what are

you reading —

runt as I am,

match to his

stride; later

in atlas,

we shrug

side by side,

& Vinland

is grayed,

‘tho Congo

light blue

to fast toward

no past, I’m re-

called by name

alone & what

won’t ever

but chime,

as anklebell

traceries

sometime tragic,

sand an hour as

collapse,

driven to a

burning library;

overload,

a bandaged hand,

that road

an yclept so-called

obsolete archaism,

hight nit & faerie

tome, et al

eterne Sirius —

that dog ate

my homework —

‘tho too, to an

Akkadian, who

was as is gno-

sis, don’t tell

Orion, horizontal

this way that

pt. review,

roam Giza, c+…

as a vajra tilt