Nonsense Poem
Never wrote type of wind.
Hurts with glowing dust hurt.
Her sawdust glare.
And gleaming mental action.
Never dreamt spinning tops.
And empty leaf piles.
Jump up like tunnel vision.
So much scarf leftover.
Never hurt iris seeping.
Into the never-grass.
Just like lawn sparkles.
And candy patterns.
A nonsense poem takes me to Orchid Ville.
Where a mental tolls pay for fortunes from a mysterious machine.
I never wrote anything more twitchy.
Than a trampoline ache.
Nothing in Rose Land either.
Dichotomy.
Grows old.
And static runs through.
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