On the Occasion of the Acquaintance of Frederick M. Garfield
M Sarki

What babbles heard on
this horizon. Axles fall.
Palms control their

wavering glances. Maws
pronounce, they pull
our methods taut. Until

an unhorsed shirr
sets down its tinted
dag. But what a scandal

now, climbing this beach
alone. Why not revert us?
Set us to exchanging. The

tripods and buskins.
The buhl.

1996 © 2003