when isn't my garden howling
when itself is a clicking

a mischief in the whisper

the wind has knocked on itself

creating a door
to the agriculture

I grown the rime
groan, morton

when isn't the duck slack

when the door is if

triple the window, try it

wind on it, open it, triple it, stick your face through it

supple
it

limn it

grackles in the face of adverse
react

to the pleasure principle
of expectation

repeat for me the garden

repetition, for me, when you

became vegan to lose weight

was it conscious

knowing you were gay in Mississippi

with a fag-hating brother

you got along well with cocaine

you wrap in a garden

green Adderal

mark-ups from the door to the garden
allowing a grackle in, only one

too expensive

to green the face of time
expand