There was something Barbizon,

the bridesmaids stocked inside a holding tank.

Flame-corked all back in herself like an espadrille.

Gone up a blaze of function

and the train was coming for his head.

She is in Love with this Pseudo-Rural Candystamp.

The Heat of New Ghiana Just a Flower in Her Ear

Professions of Hatred Burst from her Every Socket

When the Uniforms Made it Up the Creek in a Speedboat

Fat Man Playing Poker

Took his Head through the Crash-Proof Glass.

I was in this store, bouncing my bouncy ball...