suddenly orange roughy strewn across laps embarrasses nobody
Lester tinkers with minute follicles, abrasive contrarians.
Pedunculated litter lapses into shameful barrage, indecorous swills.
Storm drains allude to seasonal variations while sex devours facial territory like pleather. Not to mention fireflies, random harbingers.
Understand less than blue. More intemperate banalities.
Why is the fanbelt flirting with Dorton?
Mechanics gesticulate martyred fragrance.
The spillage weeps mistaken parts and ravishes labor laws.
Feather boas plunder certain boundaries. Obsequious margins blur.
Razzle-dazzle, he says, Lieutenant Gov’ner.
Don’t it, Zollie. Gimme that caulk gun. The roof bounces light.
Red tiles recoil underneath. Discriminate horizons multiplex flicker-code.
Hesitate. Stutter. Secure granulations, mild exfoliants.
Gravitate on stilts. Abandon all deliverables who obstacle.
Brace the fortress (obviously).
Slap the sturgeon. Slide the tongue toward water.
Gape at everything. Morse holds hooks out slant-wise.
Rudely black affections least obey.
Entangled surrogates respond in mime. Port of call.
Squinting, wide apertures demand compensation.
Seasick. Motionless. Stale. Drop the body.
Vessels demonstrate drag, waft occult moths.
Dana Guthrie Martin and Beth Coyote
8 comments:
Hey! I thought Morse was Morris. Which do you like better? Your call. And pass the tapenade, please.
It's Morse from Morse Code...
Well, duh. But I didn't know if we were going for Morse literally or for the sound sense of Morris and how that riffs of Morse.
I think Morse (rhymes with Norse) is more...interesting, nes pas?
Beth, I'll buy it. Hey, did you change your font size? Me likey.
Dave Bonta does not think our poem makes sense. What are we going to do about that?
what's so important about making sense. It makes sense to me..
I read this over at Dana's first, this layout gives a different perspective to it... It's a good collaboration
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