An iconography of crust
detailed fairy-tales spill their entrails
sea men fun-fried sand-land sun-dried
wind-tunnel-routes that tear through sails
the ocean with something to hide
An ideology of thrust
Launch pad analysis of gutters
My hand to hand-over smile stutters
Cropping up rocks, crapping out clocks
First class to tone town through brown docks
A geometry of must
Beseeched and reached, far-to-near bleached
“Each to their own” whispered the druids;
But their lemon trees found impeached
Wooden spoons to child-rearing fluids
A chronology of the Just
Quotation marks give the impression
of speech-pattern thoughtfully split
but what sort of head-spun expression
has soup to tongue hole and clit?
The Writers' Circus 