Get these grapes and some hair. Adorning you, go dream unto my little self. Underneath my back, go white and whence. The grass, the grass. Go do the thing with your lime tree. Sling shot across the windows blind, be late, pop. Born like a dog beside a road, the geese rise, their white something. Go up and up in the dim blue shade your eyes and go. Letters away instantly. Letters twist foil. Go do the old papers. The thinner and golder paper brackets. Briskly; no cake, no stars, go flat what I touch for. What my figure in the gold shooting outing goes, a barge in the night, the blue belt you go thru and up and on.
* published in Little Red Leaves 2