Saturday

Guest palaver

Gimp foot you've tailed alongthis trawl times over plenty. Barking your bark up the spoof reading bickering wards the crying thing tumbled from its cutty backroom. brawls and fenfooted we've had enough of this terse guess.



For each guest has rested her bed in her head in this soft christ of its moorings beckoned by the rude awakening o f it s calling folly.


Jill rings on a ten cent phone.  A crystal queen to her palace of mirrors and flustering clods.