WANDERLUST OF TOUT TERRE
beckons, vexing a young quarf out of bed
three foot ten
a visage of massive no thing
Over WAYOVER weight rain down cruel judge
with that gavel you stole from the cleanmean streets of montreal. Trying to make ends meet.
but whoJUST
mightbuyagavel
not even thinking about?
A man needs twolike dreams to do anything
real heinous, less he hears that old train a rollin a long a longstretch of walkway. No time not no time at all to think about then. No rhyme.
No reason to ask.
Is here the question without an audience.
Is here the repeater
dancing on lightfeet with felis.
