Thursday, January 5, 2017


will is never lucid but strange
how well in the cryptic tangle
of fitness' divine accident
does intention fit the bill
a platypus
if ducking the beam
deliver beaver
to slang its sister
over system's will
a drunken ode
lost among the loosely churning
stars an urn
or if earning one's vista
one's sole tool be vase
then turn it lightly
on the round
and repeat
its antiphony
lithe lathes in irony
a sentimental brooding