‘thru the hooves
& dune abit,
batter’d, but
the handle, grip
& sandals fit
the shiftin’
o’er the traction,
by the moon, I’ll wait
the boats
were flotsam
the breakers’
captizin’,
jotsum & zinc,
so, how’s the washun’
sure the buoyed
& flooded mingle
fore a stranger
land than that,
not knowin’ wherein go,
I’d chew on many
roots and things,
cap-side & middle
somehow salad
& potatoes
interrupt at
haversack
& himalaya,
someone said
wide-wale,
I guess on rye
if newZland
pumice floats
to lalaland,
mani-pedicurists
take to boats,
single filin’
ayaladn 