For another certain pea shot trounced
could the mother of another ounce
be stimulated on a pleasant scene
for the barren empty cakewalk dream
because a tiny person in day walks
couldn't richard their potential quarks.
In a manner of another do you
see the simple ins of grain furrowing
in slipping funnels of pulled down gravity
entrenched in love; what are any of us in the
trick of this pullet supposed to wanna bet if the sun
won't make it to the curb yet, and how are the shades
going to make themselves heard if they're outbid by a word?