Sir, where is the local toggery?
The absence of them here boggles thee!
When I implore of him
The town emporium
He said, “You’re stranger than you oughta be”
Monday, March 28, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Morning Harvest
Counted rubber bands ‘round cut-cold hands
Wooden carts away upon chips and clay
Steel dew set aflame by golden rays - day is born.
Flying flags of fennel wave a welcome good ‘morn.
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