Till Morning My Head And Why

Catherine Blauvelt

What lips little wild sing, vanish boughs
more one by one.
                             Sky, you had to be leopard,
nary a dark gut full, graceflint.
    slouching doily away, plainly about
 for others. However, in begins mute
bolster to my oblivion bling booth,
goin’: pavo pavo pavo a can
of heart of palms.
                              What taupe hopes much near nears
the hand? And with head! Farmed all
                                           farmed in you you eveing,
                                      chrissy sporadic clear grass
and clear. Which folly listening like shut fell
us high
   hearted icily when in com
     pletes approaching?
                                       Neigh, I was wrong for bed
close to the day. Here High Note, High Note.