( ~ )


( ~ )

in the morning’s moo
music is the glue

stick it like a twig
branch another jig

catch a cabbage star
see the phantom far

scrawling back again
pissing in the rain

as the maidens milk
juice a sheen of silk

churn a rusted key
warble forth & see

pigs in yawning skies
soar with butterflies

prose on toasted bread
some o’ those & spread

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