Cloud banks won't give an inch, weary with the jokes,
and there for a first day (a first time) comes up a life—
ha!
Looking for sunbreak's too much of a lady who's high.
Solitary weeks arrayed in a row look like streaks on the old old
old—
(funny me in that mood which wishes clouds into O'Day,
and a lippy grin) A face, hers, Anita's along the road coming to
a blue lake
is what this is. Birds,e.g. still as in a series of cool asphodels,
in their own feathery and white but ornamental gloves
aren't
Sure she'd felt what it was like to wear the predawn and a hat
just like one. Driving up the road in that ridiculously long
and rising way,
today's all it took for me to see. Image followed by a trilogy
of things things things—bird, hat & lake—is all the mood, given
by road
there is, for me.
