blessed flagman on the deck of distant shores...
Indie
their well shone shoe shoved up my ass...
wrote out four lengths to line...
there goes a snake with it's tail in it's mouth...
and the poem spun past gauges and wire...
that miss merchant and some others sung...
to the gleam of her shores...
they right themselves to the sun...
we rest not, we want not, we raise...
if it's a woman's place, then it's potency...
what did you do today, boy, play that guitar?
'hey! whatcha doin here? it's late!'
in a line, a curve, a hook...
months have spun a mid-summer droll...
this is one path among many...
