if i be a whore for doing,
seize not the cessation of day.
see it (see it),
hey it, nay it—
or, sir, it’s a ninny’s to-do.
even to nod to sin as it raps down heat (a pox pot
boils—excise it.), oh, hard by sad bed.
enough of hi, my friend.
cupped hands dial phone at ten
(i might fear and meet success).
live, see job/ligation—
some ought, some will—
at your touch, my lion gate opens.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
ta . . .
ta ta ta.
i see your dripping distillations
(i see your bait dangle).
it’s half a tao, this tao.
yuck. sat a bit, some sissy fuss, lynn eating.
enough, aye, here.
the rear rug cranium jig gives agony—
so, have eight.
have eye dew.
you are a he-nine.
are! i scream,
i am your retro-nine!
for riches’ fee my ass is in the air. (you play coy.)
oh, suck muck, bays a troop of lancers.
fog is a smart-ass.
between walls, here i go.
making novellas of suns, i go.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)
“No one has ever been on distant voyages, and after a long absence received a newspaper from home, who cannot understand the delight that they give one. I read every part of them—the houses to let; things lost or stolen; auction sales, and all. Nothing carries you so entirely to a place, and makes you feel so perfectly at home, as a newspaper.” – Richard Henry Dana, Two Years Before the Mast