and other calendrical adjustments wheel
us aloft and anon in a new time a new era it is

always so; you, shaking out the crust and dust of too old mud 
daubers that powder float away when my boot meets your thrust

knob for knob and bit for bob and tattle tan your hiding and seeking
and finding you alone in the shower you are slicked for the picking

up and lollipop licking my face and quick for the drilling up of your rod
and staff with my grip on the knowledge base of the erecting redirecting event

horizon, we don’t want to break free swirling we whee at the crushing gravity we are
in it for the whirl of the curve of the lip more than tip

top shape and escape is not the way
not the way round is the only

real game in town
my rained on again

sailor in port
hot chowing

his gut

of trust

choke out