1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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