Cat in a graveyard, chasing her tail.

Quite the turnstile

feline. A prehensile


If you look sideways

forklift, training the light to


An ism of prism, an



up that greasy, up that

thing of desperate keepsake

Time, my

Saves. By all the

purple hepatica

where mist the mark

dog silly

ups that greasy pole; and how

top hat. A double reverse



Framed, they crie. For all eyes

guide the hand

See? A


Grasps. Air full with strange cries

sense of civic disorder. The human face

no ism to act upon as a

Rules the

the nort. Misology

and be xxx’d upon

up that greasy pole, boys, up

tombstones. All the

to gather the windfall

of Mister Professional Brown-Nose.

butt, o,

bites the


Up that greasy pole, ladies and


a fear glides over the lit candles, hits

the hanged man, dead, swinging in upon

together. Seven of us

getting old and are wowed

to be.


7 chairs . . .

wrung neck, poor

food man.


who knows the silly from the

Sally? who knows the

Silly from the best?

Worth a high price. Because

what counts, causes. The

Light fills all place with colors and air

rant fools. I am

Others. We go

in grace, without knowing

what I do. Churches

filled with old music, faith

bores the bleak with a

dog and cat’s eye view. A pop


the big zero . . .


Who hopes:

dreams of nothing, I’m

most careful with old mahogany.



with all her flagrant leaves

in a lacquered state.

sky, too, so

that and that too


focus shifting to

the point. Do you know

wooden thinks

as the flower of faith has fade

built right in. We hope . . .


in boxes; nor do I dare to gather

Water . . .

in aire’s name, as the crowe hies.


poor Starry,

filled with my boys

glad to glimmer

no face fastened–

golden codex, moon of struck gold

bent like a bird;

the people who tooled up, too


heart’s larceny

screwed up. To be sure

a scary


close of some radionuclide adrift in the

willow-wind . . .

bidding for a box-lunch fate, o,


empty the sky is, empty of us

concrete. The noble sense of how

to a

? sunset. The sun

had to race.

For Starry, too, is a

matchbox artificer. Who has an odd

even’s the devil-thread. Who


wax … This, too, marks the surety

Straight from the sharp, acute in-

verse of cats. Spats of cats and souls to

who knows? Who!

the strange from the narrow? The


Empty casting . . . Who?

whole hill, leaves scattered

passage. Shadows rippling down

idea; but there is still the old

beckons with a brightnesse, with no

seek the first dry things of Spring,

crooked thing of thorn, a


A cross between cupid. And the devil pours

leans to the flow;

and the watch-faces are:


because the devil was small, still a child

of lightnesse; till the breath

of one who is not

weakens the stone. For the moon’s a

tourist here, on a ferry to

dreaming place. Where the azaleas

conspire and wind-up the



Formalities will occur at the

Only at the Eastern

Corridor and floor to floor with

Moon. A

shrubbery ferrets hillside,

brought about by luck; and yet



Night the artifact

toe to toe with cats, a

wonder the

Y’s cake. Pour

The cat walks, wind in her face . . .

A wicked,



barn. Give up hoping . . .

over and over, shoes

boring through the solidest. To ex-


In the holiest of times, death

there, thinking


lucky toss of the hat

A chronic

May wine. A boot, a shoe.


wearing thin sure

with holes. The humble press upon the

whole sick


nanocurie on the tongue glows;

seconds pass, you

badly off, and where?

Mister Hare in the barley.

flare, fly, fall.

Like the true man’s tryst

dust, buried sky-high in the


To chisel the word from runic-work

did, o,


hill in sky snows, white

Illusion: ghost of Mad’s

Wilds the . . .

Cats . . .

Go wild and

keep. Stay away from eld

embedded alpha-emitters,

pipes and picoliters,

don’t breathe: hope

The hot star in the lung’s

not: for hope

hops. Yes,

tint the glade on the stone heap’s baldy.


Stairway too. Give up candles and

Starry glows in clothes, too

an oddball river


bingo parlors roar for Mars on the tide

flow of rats and


Catclatter, Catfool. Catperson . . .

with all her flagrant colors

an outlaw


greased lightning and

leave faith at door: under stone

lizard a cat spies. Bite, cat, bite!

For–on the floor–

, all cats know:

the ending is more starry than the door;

Faith is of the earth, like silver grasses

Gentle doubt makes an ism of–

into a prism. Ocularia. It reads

you right, human. The whole iron hill

abduct the art: The end goes on longer than the

Start; that’s why it’s

called "the end"