lily (cut-up spam poem)

dreamy dollars -
what can we do at
the end of light?

the mystery of the
missing ships hemmed
by glaciers

what can we know
of what can we
show and what is
the road we know...?

whatever for me -
my only thought:
inevitable blizzard
at his lips and white
bees vanishing in
picture-plane and

a trumpet in the
masonry, circle of
chaste, as lovely as
sound of stiffened fur

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arrow-head is my
only single floral stroke.