03 Em Bezelers

The Lunch. Love is a hunch

back notre

damn.

Continued continued continuing

what beckons

for a reckoning

the cross unites.

Goody body

a pail of fail and fail again

a cabbage of kale and kale again

and builders

and boots. Lovely boots.

The flaming

hanging on the cha cha banging

bangers on

lips of plight

a loopy fingering away

an avalanche, a lovely mysterious

avalanche —

ponder wander bait

skate slate date.

Off the rails again

madness quails again

no no

no guarded

guided even

by their love and hate.

A gull goes tree ways

along the free ways

blinded by

bods for gods?

No no nobilated

through a lures

smoldering cures.

Shaking out

the wrench and torch

last waves

of cagey mud

remorse still budding

with its gussets

of sacred filming blood.

The cleft commissions

interrogated,

interviewing trough and

weaver, a mild high brow

em boldening

fever.

Screening are the intervening

crazy stabs,

the oceanic color of bad

dads. No easy no easy.

Costs make a bloody sauce

and pins the sun to its vigor.

Violets a moon

a blood red mud room

for catches what tips

for naught and thought.

All bale, unfolds

a risen sinner.

And thanks the soup

(for a lovely dinner).

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