Dallying with and without you, Mary Delle.
Hubris jai alai defense severed this pool
From the antic, septic skepticism. Drench
Jarred for January, I saw you soak stories
With your thumb on paper asthma petals
That you hand-dried like Lotus Eaters
Pulled of poultry minds, of times like Gentry kissing
Beneath an amber ember, licking each
For conscious stamping, stampeding dryly
Toward your acquiescent miming, tinny
Over the fest of blanketed screams, envoys
Of Icarus acolytes on one collection, to find the
Gapes of the Quarry flounders, which entrance you,
Mary Delle, because answers chase questions
Two-faced upon the uniformity of single-sidedness.
So long the chase towards a Liberty oft dreamt
In a Quandary Quarry. When inquiries are fashioned
For us limely from above our stints, our pints of warrant
Flagellate and seethe with purring satisfaction.
While you and I, Mary Delle, we feign distraction
Because we understand the remnant after the cloth,
Gone to dry lint funerals. But we cannot cry, Mary Delle.
Seems we have chosen to tenant here. The puddles again
Threaten us with an arcane inundation, like
Egypt out of Africa before the gods were born.