Wind whips rain into a lather, suds flop
coating the gunny sacks of chrysalides.
In lamb we trust, mint sauce spooned, vinaigrette,
in dollop, drizzle, cavalier splashes,
and in gravy swilled figure of eights.
Suds slip down in dirt, super, saturated
soil where rose and weed fear to bed in wont
of oblivion, just when you least expect
a dandy bramble jallops the windowpanes.
No rest for the wicked, it tattoos.
soft sighs and shrugs, sees
squalid sheets charge hedgeward.
Origin: the sea,
Which enters with flourish, flushed,
Orange house recedes inland,
Lazy sill whippet sees me,
with waving cypress,
All the same:
hurricane farce of wrappers whorl,