The Trash Heap

Note: All lines in this heap are from failed sonnets that I tried to stack without having any two consecutive lines come from the same poem. I had to break the rule twice. It was nice to find a use for this trash, though. I'm sure a few can relate: Often I think of how the canyon laughs, what jokes, I muse, would free stuffy stockades? And if the sheep had herded men with staffs, would darkness come out, not into the caves? What lambs or sheep use cripples just for skin, to drape within the light from early day, From their helium balloon canyon’s den, How would they know if tides were high to stay? Of milk lavender tulips, though, I flow, as satin lace in leather stirrups through, The march I may in august do in snow, for hell has frozen over, don’t you know? Yesterday, even, on my t.v. screen, I saw a child wearing a shirt that said: “Help save the volta, doubles have been seen, Terrible truths of one that two are dead!” So sink and seize this season's silliness, who does her hair while wielding a sword, unspoken are the kisses between us. when prayers pray for want of loving lords; Yet, my own veins feel lighter they do, she cuts at skin but doesn’t say good bye, I’ll tell you this, that it doesn’t do you, hand me the Kleenex, someone spit in thine eye! I was in love and now I’m still in love, but she, or you, you spin me crazy love! But then, I breathe, as canyons laugh at me, What? Laugh at these! I hope you stay thirsty!