Heavy UpOn The Shoulders,
A Mountain Giant,
And From WithIn The Dominion Of Its Skull,
All Wet And Bundled Into A Carriage Of Blankets,
The Grit And Dew…
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Up Above The Slope And Grade,
To The One-Eyed In Recluse And Wool,
Picking At The Meat Left In Fugal Wicker,
When At Leisure Not By The Heated Of Discussion,
Resting Its Head By A Grinding Brook…
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When Alerted By Snouted Draft,
It Learns To Lean Back UpOn The Nearly Deaf,
A Minute For Depressions Left To ReMind,
For It To Organize InTo Romantics…
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Chocolately Enticeing To The Immigrant,
Whose Lines Lead Out From Places Of Plantains To Tambourines,
Surrounding All States To Surrender,
Mothers Hurriedly Takeing Those Whites Off …
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These Days Be As Enveloped As Be Stamped,
Cleaner Than The Ways Of Older Pushes,
Loyal To The Swerve…
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A Riposte Over The Bulge,
Answering To The Trickle-Down,
InTo The Coded Cork…
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For Twins… InTwine… In Trust To Be Not With Sleep’s Brother,
As Those Of Lacking Be Respected In Age…
…
Though It Be Only Performed In Etiquette,
Never True To The Cutlery… And Seldom Seen Parrying With The Cloth.
More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca.