Salt in the brisk Alabaman shadows of monetary turbulence simmering ewe-weeds calling water docile and reformed

a cold degree shadowing the arch trumpet of disassociate mills

claiming the destitute come for God is an exaggeration of myth

that all castor oil simmers along the same clay ashes does not instruct

but newness in sound does not a poet make, just making right alms

aloyn tirailleur aiding where buckets of Alabaman costs and prices rise

no coordinated smoke weathering patters are ancient to the inconceivable God

Haley shouts, “Maybe I’ve been worth it,” where credos swim line-currents
domesticated star swimmers console the self along sacred muscle, joints, and limb
do not ask the resurrected indigenous voices if they should impart unreserved tongue for you
the first supernal maestro gives weather its own course to blame the weight, fully intended,
cynosure comes though a reckless vicissitude of preliminary sodden hedge soaps
the remvneracion of raining lines and trialogue subsequent ewe-weeds calling water docile