an oscar myer weiner car… is a fine craft
orange hands… make me wanna laugh
and call you ‘agent’
the approaching minute
17.76 paddles and in it
Alice spots Mr. Beaver “at work”
not a cleaver in the woods
but a dam clever builder… all the same
and in this state not a claim
that a dream escapes no shame
as around the cedars into boulder
a passenger greets the golden shoulders
worn of fatigue and smelling of smolders older…
than the man who bears the road
a quiet moment shared in the glare of a toad
the secrets of eve
as adam’s approach
a ‘happy man’ bathes to swim
a long lost way to ware his skin
and thinks of things soft to him
" no postage " is the best to come
for a solo man confronts a storm…
" ImA lake, she said… and you the vine"
ducks walk on water
and the snow banks fine
on an open fire
and the question is….
" who’s this ’ears driver? "
so very very ‘nerd’
say the starlings heard
and a stirring of words
or were they swords?
for the marshy shhmore
invite me sometime
as I carry canU
can swing a bear bag too
not to touch(e) you
or feed you
to the crooning loons
" hi james "
so you're a butler now?
at 12:27 PM