• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 12
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Yon Gob Agape

at neet, starstruck.
Rocks kal in dialect.
Spoutin' foreign.

Oyle in rock
is a wobbly gob.
Tha spies stars in spate.

Can't dip thee hand in
and grab a mite
o' clear blue and sparkle.

Stars are sparking
molten steel,
creation unmaking,
remaking thremsens

in words wi a different roll
off of the tongue,
that touches a new
combination of tuths.

An almost oxbow and meander
frames itsen agog
at leet streamin' into this cave.
meks sense on another lingo.