A crimson dragon-
fly, Why! never seen one of
those before, here; - my
Beach, these febriled oh-
pressive days, re-bleaching to
a 14Mil-Shill
only "Ernst & Friends"
only know; so I meande
this other, other
tres Yoga place, Ma-
ma & young Swan - Proustian? -
decide to shore, so
smooth, they, as if guide,
tethered below, two Windfanned-
down SnowFeathers, as
from a chapeau, no!
degage` "Dolly Varden"
offered-over for
simple frags of the
bread at hand, some too in a
tossing-up for the
diminutive red-
bill Moorehen in the pecking
water, as hungry
mosqa do their thing
euchre - chancing - flitting a
pluck voracity
against their Lives, this
yet another sad tingle...
and in a new bluff
I fauxstrut from the
Love we breathed... this, another
SatHerday-Sunday.
Categories:
frags, allegory, animals, introspection, lost
Form: Haiku
In ol' Songbe the choppers rise
From the sling-out pad with sleepy eyes,
All filled with special OD goodies--
Frags and doo just for the boonies.
We'll convoy up Rt. 309
And build a bridge
Where the French one stood.
The laterite is packed real tight
To support the five-tons through the fight.
The peneprime smells oooh just right
With body bags stacked in the hootch tonight.
So come sing the happy convoy song:
Santana is struming and "beer to the front!"
"Carry me back to ol' Kambuja,"
The electric guitars drift o'er the berm.
And the sweat is mixed with the three-two beer,
Nobody here is filled with fear,
And the stars by the thousands stand up to cheer
Santana and doo and a breeze from the sea.
The rockets are pretty seen from afar.
Categories:
frags, death, history,
Form: Ballad