fat, high
backwoods plenty
shoemaker city
to the unstruck chord
“i am the lord”
she cried alive
she died
in the arms
of a stranger
the life of the lotus
let be your light
the eightfold path
your fodder
growing older
ancient soldier
paling at the sight
of too many legs
will i meet
the man in the attic
and pass unnoticed
two ghosts
in the night?
duly smack on
cracker snack
summertime shotgun
to the fold
celebrate the mad
among you
like max
the galloping loco
horse of bass
and stimweed
silver lining
metal sack
and simper floyd