in the whisker mists of Avalon and the burnt toast
the golden spool of your precious and the lingering annihilation
of so dangerous an absolute.... the mad flute in a gale. an unassailable loon !
i suppose now         the autumn in our wires and the fox too foxy.
we will never gather serpents
in the sweet
bye and bye.
like two jewels on a wednesday
my usual nemesis has struck again and the harbinger of our nexus has just missed.
and the wine in the thimble has never known how quiet
you can get... just rumors .
the couch is worn where we sit. it dips where we recline
in the ludicrous.