after H.C. Westermann
The reddish glow is jacked. Ole Cliff he found
the yard out back, and it sure got the roses bright.
Criminy anchor, tippled hull, haunt of
pieces&parts in a footlocker full.
O Canada don’t hold a candle to thee,
spring’s air like cigar from the gunnery,
she was the slightest gal on the circuit see
and I loved her.
Yellow barn planks thrum in the hum of the
plane. Handstandin’est, sweet bargain pal,
I could have found nothing in the hickory
but what below burned frightest. Knot me.