The hunters moon,
it gathers sway
Bricks are made of mortar
but also of hay
Piggies’ tales and greenwich times
The Quill-o-the-Wisp’s
back to rhymes.
Woods and lakes in Anastasia’s wake
do find a page or million
via the vermillion
lore
of India’s gates.
Convergence
with the Mohawk
the Spock
and even the
digeridoo.
Draw a tarot card or two
And dowze the realms
In dreams.
Oh, Blineys?!
