driving in the next lane

(poem beginning with a line by you and paralleling you)

    Quiet Crickets


Quiet crickets
A little pain
Soon we'll be thieving your pantry
The milkdream & the book of hours
Don't cough at me in my worries
The hammer of the grammar of the call of it

Trust the gramarye of woe, a tree it
Always was sworn by the crickets
First the venison of pictures
Now the reign
Makes swervy the hours
In the Antoinettean counting

Become a worry, country
Is gangsterish, it
Is wearing out our cometary flowers
What becomes of the freaking pickets
Silences will like children not like pain in sane

"Welcome to the Sitzbath of Kitties!"
We could barely open our eyes

To wean the dictionary in the city
In a wily attempt at a less neolithic country
Not to comply w/ cunt, as mad a word as stain
But not so wadded up
Doesn't spine up more gullible than potato bugs
Startled suddenly by fingers under
Off course flowers

Especially gillyflowers
Like the Slender Blue Fag...the witty
Has got axolotls & gingko trees, the wickets
Creep tup nubbing the country
To gather buds
From this perilous lawn we'll wear
Its ill raining

Actually I'm sad it's draining
It was kind of thought to visit for the hours
I loved the diorama of the City of God
Though tornadoes had made it mad
Do you wink at the tree of heaven silver Epcot survey city?
Will change the turbid and southerly country's
Fur bodies grow us to justify poetry's lusty thickets?

Dunno

Only know

Deceptive crickets (mails) I can't bear them in the rain
Country of this whelping of nameable flowers,
City makes a hammer out of wit.