Less Wacky Than Last Night

Lover flowers implied parwise
has been my merimont rather
affecting me slidentally
one leg south west the other
laughing at the vilt morning
created for birds but havilled
by us the trevitted and glowing
slaves of our ambid risings.

There is a bureau, a crescentia
there is a lip crossed, and flindal
chin settled in mostly wantless
but reserving chasment for future
slippage, for judgment to be
parviced under the sharpness of eye.

So far I am unable to arrange
the vectors normal to endrossing
horizons frost and dyes encompass
the stepwise bittance of awaking
whose fault this glayed moor
whose dedication if not yours
guess yes, oh straffled man, mine.


[note: This was written in response to an assignment to my poetry students to write a poem involving the invention of words.]


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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