i

now,whose
the ******
lily,this
confrontation
is such a bore..
there is no wine
as sweet as thirst
( to paraphrase
edna st.vincent millay)
little mr. thought for
the day-
a potato is a potato..

ii

well that was lunch
inspiration is rather
dry to some petulant
spring such is day three
of the fiesta..

iii

but here anyway..

iv

i would rather dig my own
grave with a numbered spoon
then go to a bbq..

v

sooner play the blues
than go on a cruise

vi

better loose both knees
then visit disney..

vii

lily leave me
stop this carousing
the love tree
has become winter then

our spring lost and gone
when blossom hung
sweet and glittering
in the free

summer found us
in sundry doldrums
pitched again to
the  roots of done..

autumn now the golden
days lay like a stone
where we sought ourselves
anew..

toward the equinox of our
o and to no where
particular but love  and now
we me yo..