As/Is







7.30.2004



I give myself a gift
of a barbarian cookie
for my birthday.



After the seemings of
jest, a jute of joi
de vivre cough soup.



A Libertarian
convention, stones
lobbed in the lobbey
of pastel gloom.



The trees, an
aspect of cragomite
frame, a gloss.



An appetite of
squelch Norway
repast sans coupon