James Wagner
LXV
FROM TRILCE
My tree, before manners a scent a go,
a mirage and two bending gentle lanterns.
A comedy and a story mis-dissected cannot see he'll row sadly
the log a half false trudging.
My sparrows too are codes umber,
last tonsure charades column us they too sense us
easy a companion lavished. My sparrows help out,
he'll core a door the ebb a joke can sustain those you repulse
the fester. My sparrows my ceiling I owe,
actually been quite rude trusting the dynastic
curio, came apart no more raising gun due to a lazy notch
tottering at us, they korea a core hello.
A story cribbed omits carrion my spurs.
A story ejects—noise you'd hear last Sunday?
—no eyes to scar the years?
a story plasmatically to form you'll aid a Moor
for a today told us lost hiccups they eat solo.
Oh see she dispossesses lost a sea to us flaunting
parrot told us lust cinders most distances
parrot told us the cities must distend us.
I see, murder immortal. A sea.
Passionless doubles across the two-cent gray, for don't they
hike past her tan dependence, he has to map a tree
pare an ear for all,
humiliate those hostile men the lame I tell hum pray,
has the soil primer picked when he'd visit.
Has he, murder immortal.
Enter the column nothinged to his source
keep no beauty carny allures us,
you're a cruel ladder nothing he'll destine puddles in trauma door
nothing one solo dead says.
A sea, murder immortal.
A sea.