with an armored dilldough....
one can't but wonder...'Where'd the grill go..
....and the mangoes, pits'n'all...'?
....ach...not another feckled Fall...
.the prime's been pumped...against the wall....
the troutspores ripe for breeding....
the wiffle's not a cannonball...
and
lurklogs need reseeding...
I said I'd leave...it seems I lied....
.....ran......
didn't find a place to hide......
....I could puke...the train's forsook
the dumpling blossoms on the track...
friable tuckers wail the lack
of mortals who could take a whack.......
at the haves and quarters, thirds....
that bleed the trysting dry of words.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Irreverent and witty, your words share your anguish and disgust with the lightest of touches. I never fail to stretch my eyes at the inventiveness of your poetry. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥