My book shook and look!
A crook which is sure to hook
onto some **** which doth
hang out randomly
like a dress out your car door.

I am shy with my
high and dry status
the why? I am not sure
But I vie and cry and
Lie and try to
Do more.

This will kiss the
Enterance pages of its
inspiration: Bliss.
Titled, this **** and griss miss
Priss diss this list and hiss
Like snakely Chris
Who is in Fresno
Hiss.

Hiss.

Kiss.

This is my bliss....

BLISS POEM I.

My book shook and look!
A crook which is sure to hook
onto some **** which doth
hang out randomly
like a dress out your car door.

I am shy with my
high and dry status
the why? I am not sure
But I vie and cry and
Lie and try to
Do more.

This will kiss the
Enterance pages of its
inspiration: Bliss.
Titled, this **** and griss miss
Priss diss this list and hiss
Like snakely Chris
Who is in Fresno
Hiss.

Hiss.

Kiss.

This is my bliss....

BLISS POEM I.

Time moves snakely
whipping around tripping me up
on the scales which are really just trap doors
on hinges, flapping shut to the rhythm of
the blood currants
carrying river run-off to the mouth.
He that dares stand where I stood
to drum up sunlight from the cellar
pulling the cord, hand over fist—
Calling the ring shouts in my place
weaving and wasting what little is left.