825
alone
with my words
all struck up
a feast
and vanish
dreaming
they are not things at all
and blue
just try to call the colour
when words won't agree
a heap I tell to castle
let others worship here
afraid I must offend them
make myself sleepy with play at the keys
take a shower
is there some bounce?
my word
all coiffure
whipped to great height
that was my toilette
and holy
often dealt in anger
making them up
I mean
on the spot
slip slide in
smear
and rub them
little lamps
a headsup for my words
they are always ready travel
in any case
open the hatches
climb snug for the ride
sneeze at
my words are an open book
they hang out
as one leaf fallen tells the forest
succubi baby in the treetops
are they mine?
words stole me away
but I call them my country
this is the thing passed on
to be sneezed at, not
often they have rounded on me
'young fool'
'old wrinkled oaf'
they say
yet there's wiggle room with them
and I still kneel to pray
in the mirror
I'm talking to myself again
over our heads the pictures float
they could be hands around my throat
pounce on them
and they strike back
who said that they might rhyme?
some sun shone through
and seasonable, changing
some are breeze borne
many fallen
they make away with
then we're gone
and I'm not telling where...
I might
come to me dreamy-eyes
in love
and you were there
you're with me now
there's bleating
old socks
often tossed
crossed out
and map adorning
I believe that no one owns them
although wars are fought
say what?
I'm sure we can't have come this way
this we-all-otherworldly
could not have come at all
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