fob measures a fool out for cotillion stress and dress making for paper prancing invalids. we shower in the creeks of forgiveness with slip fish and braces. we sparkle in the leeks, make bongo bread in the cabbage rows, rust gone taken over the bloomed out windows. none to be measured fast like the cartwheel marriage down south heavy breathing and stop for no one plenty nuns swimming naked.

it requires agency

and lines dark read on sinking showboats in the silt of heaven hands, in the palm lines of juicecarts bleeding park freedom for upstaged winos in the lilt-federacy. the flag of never whip-waving bout like a horseshoe harp strung up man’s flushed farmland down the grain of we the people. whatever. you might do double the deck-toned blue jazz bent ceiling fires but they won’t bring you down with their water skates. you’re better than the sop hounds handing out sky brochures for the brooch brigade.