Love volute like pumpkin pie, thickening
voiciferously, as if going feral again--
Void can be touched, tasted, plump
with a plumbing of bundt light--
I wrap round nests around loud sentences--
I nestle with semblances and drowning--
Making water in the morning among thirsty
black cats, among flowering sludge--
It's rewarding--It's what you can do
in the meantime before it's fat


***************************************************************************

No More Movements...


Lewis LaCook -->Poet-Programmer|||http://lewislacook.corporatepa.com/|||


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