Friday, March 10, 2017

Suppose it were Friday cxxiii: As we were saying

   I'd pitch some tent for snuggling
   to drink our rising dawn, as hard
   upon the ground as I could tauten
   such a frame and its billows in a
   swell to hold it as we stretch as
   dogs, deaf to complaint of waking

         Cowgill Forge
         January 29, 2017

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