XXVII
The puff-cheeked rower
rotates his oar’s water-globe.
Puff-cheeked glassblower.
XXIX
The worm that attacks
my large intestine has cut
me a little slack.
XXX
A calabash knocks
on another calabash.
This place really rocks.
XXXI
Once a lichened breast
turning from lake to lilac
was the litmus test.
XXXII
I’ve tested the crowd
with my elbow. Body heat.
All you’ve disavowed.
XXXIII
Such technophobes,
those fireflies down and dirty
in the disco-strobe.
XXXIV
The sput-sputter-sput
where the idling fish-torcher
lights on halibut.
XXXV
Brash, though. Brash, brash, brash.
The tree frog that weighs no more
Than your cigar-ash.
XXXVI
Bindweed, or smilax.
The bundle of elm-branches
vindicates the ax.