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).