stringing theories
into
bergamottled
receptors.....
one
who
waits
with a prescient eyeful
towers above the
potables...sways.
to
the tune
of
two forks clapping.....
on, core...on, core..........
.
let the pits fall
where they've
spread the sheets
and
made a pyre
of
the cormorant's leashes.....
the mill is floss
and
the barkers are idle....
throw us a biscuit..and we'll bay no more.......
it's gibbous...
and the chimely fauves
do tire and tremble
in the lathe....all whimsy,
are the blues and mauves...
and the bobcats behaved....
this time! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem