...and all they could be measured by...

get up! get along. the friar didn't go bald for your pension.
unwaxed jackets now stay strewn low and slovenly like kelp, just waiting for wave orders
the next passerby eliciting momentary control, then silence
what is happening?
spices strapped inside barrels bound for the shore
sunstroke sweeps and windswept fascia pose like victimless paddles
let's hope the seals were worth the tender price we paid

servitude, at least
i can not work. something about john henry and a fuzzy stuffed lab
repeating in my brain. good enough to get it now. to look good. to give the good. now a need.
star gazing for angels in time on top offered objective and sallow
padforn, he lost it. magpies remember. with wishing these combine
already dousing sluggish energy, true mean - soon or teeth
brew ha! we laughed. we're down, bobbing.