The Lie of the Land

by grimbeau



Half man: half musket

Was not was


Stroke me branches crest the lawn,

Attracting glances beside

the splendiferous alpine experience.

A dog cocks its leg on the ugly plastic herb cover.

TheĀ  tiger glows under the daffodil.

Aphids pester gannets

Thrashing in mild dark.

Slow is what it is.

The cream is questionable,

but I have no fear

cautiously prizing the lid

finding caramel and semen.

The red rubber band

on the pastry

turned blue in the freezer.

I leave the door open

to help it find room temperature.

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