Counting the song curds, lefty boozing.
Cuticle takes the groove,
a steady mile of entourage.
 
Caw! Celery’s tameness.
Caw! Tampered by clocks.
Knitting in a smoky tar.
 
All frayed up with jazz,
hooting in the park,
she dices diminuendos.
 
Tramming at spy tools, the
bee bleaches heaven, smelling avarice.
To extinguish yourself is to grieve.
 
Fun times, the lonely dray.
A killer brew lacking ski ruts.
Meh. Too car. King of rhumbas.
 
Spoon tilde floors the tunecow,
cousin tutors that book like fizz.
Natalie’s other knee.
 
Dumb synergy be nil.
Flout the stew cook, dirty tears
stall like trucks in a scullery.

— Michael J. Vaughn