Son Two, Daughter One going, hurtling, preparing to
be unprepared for vicissitudes:
- of the floss-loched, green eyed variety
- of the ship-rocked, mirror iced variety.
They wing carbon streaks, inflame the stratosphere,
wend toward sweet showers of the
brilliant blossoms of the spring times
of their lives.
Not long ago, we yodelled days of Christmas,
gorged on grass seeds, cranberries, pine nuts,
squash cubes, yam mash, wine red,
sprout balls halved,
pilafed rice, mushed rooms, gin fizzies,
un stuffing.
we chopt the tree on dead ostrich acre,
calmly watchd by golden eyes of the ghosts of eviscerated lions.
we tapped Caped Breton's beat,
seated in Royal velvet,
high above nodding silver sea of old folks' heads.
We gamed, movied, gifted,
mouthed a great multitude of discussion.
Not long before, we crushed twixt
meatstick gnawing Five X bodies,
droop wadding with slogan breasted
T shirts
down main street Disney land.
We loggered a water fall,
ears puffeted by drunken skeleton gun fight
(while roads upon lanes upon motors upon tires wrapt round us non stop)
We toured the halls, the fountains,
the arched golden futures of possible.
We clattered up down Knob Hill
from Hong Koing to Osaka.
posed 'neath Santa's beard,
cloaked in twinking fog.
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