Head on Bowl

Getting there —

Lob and we 
are meant to fall. 
Rhymes the gall.
Chimes the way 

runes the dunes
weighs head on bowl
a whistleblowers
metastable --

Called to stand
in black and pink
home's drawers
and drawers
are filed with it --

-- farceurs allures
-- loves of loaves 
-- Vincent's napsters
in fields of crow.

Boning honing sky
for mariners readings
bird guides feeding
posts along the spillway.

Enters, at crosshairs
pure is
as pure as --
a collapsable chair.

Gloms a hat
that is a cat
that is a bat
and all that.

In library
with hair clip
scales sails --
for a collection plate

because sky and noon
shot cross a bow
and in the boon --

beholds
unfolds

the midair mudroom
flying lobster
sitting bull

whose physics is
a gap with pull.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Scroll to top