some creep's top hat noises

 (like a dung in sheik's bloating)

 oh tithe thee hiss close ominous
 and come to mine lap where thee cradle
 for in thy sleep thou hast wandered
 and thy woolen eyes hast puckered
 and their navels come unraveled to the tease
 of the cosmic cackle

 the horse mirror shuns
 any too straight gaze
 here the poem's tongue
 pretends to be a nose

 oh tithe these hiss clothes
 which hymn their nooses netherly
 and come to mine hearth book hut
 with ladle lapel gesellschaft
 and horse mirror mask

 for with your crooked puckered eyes
 you would come here then
 unto this unleavened cosmic cackle
 and any moment doing anything
 to this tinman with head of toto
 to this witch water become

 un-narrated


https://www.facebook.com/lanny.quarles/posts/1976748899219740