Prayed for the Moses of toes

Prayed for the lily white seasons

Prayed for the bowed and the blowed

Prayed for the raisiny crows

Some far

Some near

See the signs 

Of the raisiny crows

What do you 

A foreigner in my mind 

Have to say

About these things

I am interested 

Stop at the store

A fine kettle she said

You've stolen the light 

And now she's dead

Pray for the mixture

The fixture

The field

Pray for the hassle

The topsail

The yield

Pray the godawful

The dirt

And the greed 

Pray the essence 

Of mercury

And mead

 We crept from the foul mealy mouthed authors toward the door.

The sunlight was like baked Alaska cold on the inside.

My knife was lost on the cliff so I bit thru the leather straps.

I remembered the down filled comforters and the winter sunlight in San Francisco. Too easy. 

We harvested the lobsters who had climbed over the barricades. One said his name was pituitary and he had worked as an optician. Or was it optometrist?

Time circled back and left us cramped and thirsty for wine. 

 I lost the battles.  

    But the war was fun.

   We hopped a freight to rigormortistan stiffened up a bit

   Al said the shops in town suck

   No Cuban cigars 

   No Abba Zabba

No RC Cola

   Amber said we should sell the children.

But I’m not ready for that.

Still they are a noisy bunch.