CORSO AND A GIANT LEAP OF ROTTEN FLOWERS

Sometimes a petty thieve is pleased,
sometimes he meets amazement;
his writings – poetry and prose –
pile up and down a basement.

Crave Gregory, my dwarf, and grope
gigantesque quailing statues. I rest my
case, now rest in peace, come vices
and come virtues.

May I say that our month of May did
moan and mound your map?

The gal I had, the love I craved for,
snaking round your lap?

For black on black, a minstrel’s mime,
how did it fit your tube; your tenor,
tremors, attitude, your membership
and lube?

My Gregory, consortium, my midget
met at Clinton. The President? Pen’
tentiary a classic wanton win ton…

The girl mixed up, giving this birth,
a scolder’s mothers wrap.

You give us substance, subsequent…

Became I skilled, full yours?

M.J.C.A. 02-07-2006