are playing over frog and toad.
the road to
and you can feel it in your marrow.
everybody wants a passenger seat,
a place where they can cook their meat.
some get lost while taking the test,
a cactus born within their chest.
even odds that black is white
and you need more than a string to fly a kite.
whiskers shed, the maker said.
complete and contrite,
two bongs can make a right,
the manager is out of sight.
her brother’s dead, one in the head.
trade winds knock over carriages,
and baby’s from true love marriages.
they don’t mind a little pain,
the thistles on a lion’s mane.
books are useless
and a newborn is toothless.
ongoing goings on unrecorded,
a pilot who slept while his aircraft boarded.
her uncle failed to mow the lawn,
he thought his bishop was a pawn.