Friday, April 21, 2017

avor the eglantine




 was led by the herald
 of the snod
 to the old fort
 which overlooked the remains
 of the forest in the valley
 and there it pointed
 at the weald
 where the primey
 broomy things pushed
 and avor the eglantine
 would not go there
 but stood in a hush
 imagining his tongue
 was an oyster
 a traubel en camden
 a fabre' en carcassonne
 that his tongue was barefoot
 in the snow
 sore

 a hare
 in black attic

 your breast is deforming
 my supreme lesson