
DAILY PHOTO: Yggdrasil
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Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!
Damned universal cock, as if the sun
Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.
Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.
You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,
Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.






If I can spark the occasional smile of amusement or trigger a line of thought once in a while, that’s enough. In the long run, it’s all dust. (That latter commentary was more on the thought-provoking than the amusing side of the equation.)

cold Spring day:
feels too chilly
to be so green.

Sometimes the syllables matter:
It meant to say, “Stow cars away
Someplace that is not here.”
But just one unfortunate break
Is all it takes to make it say:
“Middling Monarchs are Banned.”

one-legged crow squats
to explode into flight;
false alarm!