Hast thou wondered if thou couldst lift
a pebble by the thought? Maybe not
unless thou wistest its true name.

Morning is all time morning
yet hopeful ofterthat
we send thee tokens of heed yet livelier.

We saw ads for a book
“what takes it to feign thine own food stall”:
a cold head, a clear throat,
a pulledporkbutterham, and a broken pump,
and a food stall.

Before time we had sitten up the red-green stair
in the yonderwonder “how became we unlikely”.
Whence have we kinder yonderwonder our end.
Before time we had laid alone eyes-up,
as a standbilth of how world’d us asunder.
How worth we likely?

Soms haunteth kindhood our mistakes–the little ones–
like the time we poured meal leftovers on a sideling’s dish,
or when they closed our pee-pee presentation;
the world goeth mad, eitherone runth in circles,
and the kind wondereth, and we worth unlikely.

Morning is all time morning
yet hopeful ofterthat
we send thee tokens of heed yet livelier:

a bloom, a morningsmood thick pig, a bug report.

Blive or not–we know not what we will.
The only probable consequence is a default.
We will rid ourselves of this windfarercurse
and stay by some side or none side.

We clearly want stillness
as much as we want clove.

We want kip kerrie salad.

Thou calledst peak of the reach.
Was I ever seal on hoisen?
Thou calledst “sandstorm”
and the clouden roared;
thou calledst a pebble by the name
and it came alift.

Berlin