is

is this, how your hand, works, like this?
like this, and over, again this that like,
over a tumbling weed, of summer, awkard
as the chair, rocking , rocked,

and tin to that over
self, of bodies in shame,
and love, or your face,so long ago,
seen, lends me a comma,
come to cover, your culvert,
like a punctuation mark,
and your
smile

,





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fix it fox brain thy quill is tender-lion
to yer snag of which and woes
crusted fiction to her tearing gait ~ .

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