L.A. Kenton Poems

So the purpose has all gone under
Hark ‘twas only sound, more thunder
Better sing a song!
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The mice sleep soap n’ hurry scurry, go merry the weekend
And my death-letter hath no form nor stamp t’ frank on send
Blood down my branch it’s still torn mud and dripping
Could ya hop the stile? I see yer brow a raised skipping
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Ah sista I jus’ had to go do kiss an’ scat
Jet-black braid flow-whistle tract
Shakespeare-look of this, pout-tip of that
An arrowed door say: swing peach & bat
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