Stoking quill fires in my oyster magnetron
is all the rage, all the white page -
at its bully pulprint. Gavels singing in the maelstrom
of our misbegotten promenades.
Joking as daffodils pollenate my grief’s migration.
enthrall of a Pagan blot on Night’s plague
as If silly wisdom Drifts!
With Hammers ringing in tandem
to pause at a place that propagates.
A Dead Lift.
Perhaps too brightly.
with Harlequins?  

And navel-gazing.

too U
and Knot
This.