vapor, for mummy and my big toe.

colon powell cluster
sandusky mustard
trust your muskets
valley below townhome tally ho flo jo
can't psyche the trike with enough burt reynolds look alikes
general custard's last pie stand lemonade two ton garage band sand ahoy look mummy no pantaloons zeppelin fried burger uncle chester arthur sword begot of methuselah sister of the chapel happening bastille day burn out parade
fist in the fact can't hack the mainframe
cracked the code went abroad to my heavenly abode
a whole host of holy viands wafer and taters and fish for you and I
blisters on cavefeet seat of the pants of the envelope back of the marked graves for clint and the the east of the moon series
rife with dust and ent in pages of manuscripts
southern baptist migratory patterns.

Phone call, Mr. Nussbaum

Something happened when I fell overboard,
the slooshing and sploshing apart,
the dolphin queen claimed me as her own.
under the ruckus, the pack did pluck us,
and flowed down to the cardboard box set sounds
of a green blue haze.
breathed in a mouthful of lungfish,
breathed out abanquet in kingly praise.
Found I had grown an inch or two.

The queen did promise to tug hard on the old man that was stuck inside me my last doctor's visit,
to unsurgically over-remove the brain-deaditude.
it was a day of burning, as the water toiled orange, and green, and smarmy purple,
and wrested the wasted wretch from within.

when I surfaced, after expressing my gratitude in a multitiude of sky smells,
My single gill slit subsided,
filtered.
born again, rising from the umbilical waters,
finding out who I was in the self reflecting ocean.
climbed onto my own ship this time,
and carried my mutinously happy self back to dry land.
THE END>