With what arrays of any to the clamored waves, see the set a-sale ways of waves so monotonous, and a Suncoastal drive when we stay alive and survive, the Primordial Tide—stirred in sitting to the washing machine—spinning—kept unkempt my boxers in boxes, and the laundry—albeit BLEACHED with detergent genetics MY JEANS, that song of some to big, some too long, some so itsy-bitsy skinny of a vertical leap—how “hi” can you jump?—higher if you’re “lean” when I’m showered up CLEAN body needy of a sheen shined shoes when my toes let loose, like Mother Goose and my Mom—mostly staying somewhat a little bit SOBER — taking that command from me, her wobbly- and walking talking quick with NO LISP… sitting stirring not to take sips of her wine-ing nightly just a small little cup—and that’s what’s up? with my Mom swearing up ’n’ down not being a clown, and not having too much, only one CUP of $CAKE when of avail, Pocahontas was the one who didn’t “SET SAIL” that darkeness skin of ail, and over the river and through the woods, time for me to embrace the Spring of cooler weather today, in not-yet May when, oh, that will be the day, for me to set Misty Mister Mail and Man with what I can always tallish- standing up straight—some jerk took my http://www.wrxtbi.com offline and that’s really, really shitty of some enemy-fuck to steal my luck, this when they get into my apartment every chance they get, I fly Flightened airplane such, with, again… my luck, and of the draw to chew on chaw with chocolate chopsticks—my tummy feels “adrift” of my many ice cream cones, so cold-  but new to like and lick and chewy the candy granola bars, of Quaker Oats, how’s the paddle in your 10-foot boat? My Dad bought me a boat when I was but a boy, with a new toy to explore Baker Pond, all Summer long, when I picked salad with a tong to tongue the French-made Dressing, or maybe Ranch, “Hey Dude!”