(a collage of some lines of you all’s, like I do every April)
This epic sprawl of largesse
In longhand
This mirror I once wondered
At
And the fire that lures
The heart that butterflies
The products in the cart
My little golden
Straddle plunder
Plotter
Asleep in silt
With the hand that holds
The hours that slow
This void of course
World without end
And then
Love this every time you do it! How each word/phrase changes with a different poet’s hand/mastery.
Picker’s special! Always a good deal.
“My little golden
Straddle plunder
Plotter”
!!!