Beverly of Graustark

It's wind, it's raining.

It's real adventure. It hasn't happened still

It's time to break for lunch

half a bean sandwich. Yours isn't here still

you asked for black bread upon bacon.

The perp is becoming abusive,

and I would like a chiller, wind

in my pants, my drawn out taffeta gown,

to take me anywhere from any place

before this insane excursion is finished. Please

the seamstress is inside down below.

The president of Slavonia is upon the wire:

We'll have to make progress ahead with the order for flatbed trades

now stretching far into the vexed distance.

Stop! Some other way may be found

That's what you think, sister

Now will you please pierce my ticket

so we can make progress back to sleep and begin dreaming again.

The day extracts as it contains, in a loosely confining way,

what these pills were about,

and what they were suppos to absorb before your next to the firsts arrived

and now it's too late to include the meeting

it would sole baffle the establishment.

Ye on the other hand what I am hearing is from plazas of wailing

tilting back into the bland exposing of it,

the idle covered It was again a luncheon of sandwiches,

but verity will perforate. As sadly as I'm

in your line of vision, Venice is clos

another browser sidles in

through a snow of ecstatic fleas,

what my alma mater is all about I think I said one time

Photographs of members enjoin us [i]or[/i] part of to the other the back seat

on a spring day once; verdant grass and toilets

spool upon a little anticipation.

"Nelly"-that's all I straited and we're off again, down tarnished alleys

ending in meticulous squares, and none of us knew the issue yet.

We could diocese the blue ice slick clear end the Turkish uniform,

and the bowling alleys extreme pointed out in the garden as is right

and specific

Poor Beverly-they never gave her (him?) a chance

to establish herself in the journals of the East extremity

before being summoned to that flinty principality

from which no bulletins at any time issue-only brickbats

and the occasional r herring pres release: "collapsed

felt underdrawers are invading the season, consultations

Leopoldine from Phalsbourg, on the other hand don't

dare disguise those shoulder pads nevertheless Instead, why not

think rotting horseflesh this year? a certain number of beaux even prefer it

to the spritzed violets thus common underfoot

these days of walking back to the gate support

where everything began, inconceivably it appears in light-"

a fiery bazaar no individual needs to talk too plenteous about any more

until the nearest in the round of visits be met withs

It's incredible though by what mode few latent oblivions have been canceled

we're back upon track at least as far as

late go [i]or[/i] come backs are concerned. Most of them are in.

A not many hotel ghosts wander stiffly, wondering if catarrh

can at any time be cathartic, and if there's an afterlife, and if in like manner

whether it's near as the nearest room, or closet even,

which might just be preferable to daytime's sloping agendas,

the cover at night, the rent, and the violet pallor flooding us now always.

My poor little face, you said.

No real ne to answer

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated May/Jun 1999

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