tongue untied

to tom
totem

.........................................

The shortest verse


I am a writer of crooked things

An Underworld type writer

And I am pensive

A pensive sharpener of pencils

Slowly I whittle my leaden shafts

Cutting away from me

So I don't get hurt

Or I suck ink into bladders

In gulps only

To bleed them out in tiny threads

And watch the fluids spread

The fluids spread as

Dead as lead

Blotten

Blotto

Low blotomy

high lair at tea

Afloat a-sea,

the marks contain

the thoughts troughen-sunk

Or waven-tossed

Hell leaven

Half heaven baked 'n

Vomited onto deserted beaches

Triton's heav-en horn

Summons children

To read things into seashells

Only a metch wrike Lee

could put there

Hear sounds only He could hide there

Surfy fingers trying to reclaim
ineptly

The truth of the matter:

The million'th monkey finally typed

Jesus weptly
(sic)

[v. Z.]