Our wits have been read,

And so I instead,

Have proclaimed,

Something

Could be –

Ran amuck

So much stuff

That I can’t puff my

Chest out

Like a quarreling dove that can’t see

It’s mate flew

To

Another tree.

Projections could’ve been in the works,

Anger undisturbed,

Never faulted, misunderstood,

Only to switch up directions,

Mind-numbing from the scope of attention –

So that some of those snails

Crawled into that

Bag

From frresshh, the islands you’ve seen,

Crawled to death,

Only to be fed,

A textured bed,

Of saline.

In which they could no longer seep

that sweet sea breeze

round the lungs

down to the diaphragm,

in

circulation.

They got trepidatious,

osmosis despondent on

some, sort of variation

scream – shrill – laughter

thrilled, basqued, and shatter

in the burn of the heat

shelled, after the bag

before the pot

hits the burner

of the stove

no one knows

why it has an air fryer.

The snails from the heat

either lofty after, sweet

rotting deaths

determines their necks

are imploding in-to

weak

will-of-course

so they stop short –

very few cry,

all the more time,

to delight for some

sharing

of laughter,

recant some former morbid banter,

stay alive, only for a viewing

of the next course,

vie to see

if sea-snail life

could ever persist

for a moment longer

swiftly, not stronger

on the

right

side

of the

chopping block,

served, with a cup of tea.

Hopefully dismay,

will keep the snails around to say,

“Maybe the next course won’t be so salty, eh?.”

Inspired and sluggish,

a snail quite;

grand in gestures, per say

Was then served on

a bed of hay;

the poor man’s

mattress they say..

Weevils embedded,

And so instead did –

this man decides to eat

the bed,

Including all-that – hay. 

There was snails in his salt,

in the bag, when he gandered across,

how? could this be?

Suddenly daffodils

fall! from the ceiling

a massive bonsai tree crashed,

only revealing

floral scents of gardenia

prevailing

by! like a perfumed breeze.

Suddenly a mouse caught ten

Wheels of Cheese -spent!

There was herbs in those cheeses, you see.

Say no to pickles, I like

Olives, no fickle –

squishy crispy texture

I can’t understand

But proclaim to a man

shot in one hand

then chooses pickleback for chaser,

Sour, you chose.

I’m more briny, verbose

in scope

of my

delectable drinks.

Withering vanes know,

I have no chase to go,

The deers come

to my front yard

when it rains.

If the spirit of adventure,

is at it

in lecture,

I suppose gaia’s green

earth is dispelling

claims

high-narry

ways

instead

of a new set

of strings.

archaic and accidental;

so spoke the mantle,

that would normally carry one’s

pair of keys

venturer sojourn

blew the car horn –

every time

a truck 16

would pass and he’d

find another wheel of cheese –

discus for tongue, you’ve got it all wrong!

spider recluse?

browned, of some use,

are poisonous in threats,

they’ll eat off your leg

in one bite

that punctured,

with it’s captivating

pair of incisor teeth.

Fueled a flame,

bacteria in vein,

then caused a knee to lose 3.

Slow burn, crawl

enthralled by it all

a bite

to note its existence

and so installed a spider that all

but found a clock to gawk

and watch hours slip by in agony

only for pain

and stubbed-toe rain dance sway

at the limp foot

the ankle that hooks

to swear

practice is only for stability.

But birds

eat these spiders too.

Snakes.

Microbacterium can kill them.

Probably even the same, found on the moon.

So, before too soon.

The dinosaur crawled,

genetics survailed

thoughtful heir

to

a killer queen

auntie t-rex

is pretty spent

moving jungle trees

around for a rest

at least just the neck

my arms hurt even if they’re tiny.

She shares.

Yet she screams

and she roars

and sublimates to pass

a few eternities

and instead wakes with dread

she looks to the reflection pool

only to find a hen,

staring back,

auburn locks

and ivory tips

that draught! like

the ultimatum!

Time becomes slow!

Because everyone knows

dinosaurs walked

so chicken hens reign

their ingenuity

enthralls others

with

migraines!

Wicked extension,

I caught my head suspension,

teatherd, tattered, and torn,

I ripped it off myself,

follicles spelt

and as my head imploded

and all that was noted

a color

like

chartreuse.

Enhanced with green,

toxicity, slimed!

beyond capacity,

where the hell do eggs born of game and search occur

that the auntie-t rex

stirred

for 600

to say,

66 million

years,

without quick search, a

guesstimate from the brain

served as salted hay,

on a platter, and thus did scatter

the chicken hen

that shattered

when she saw the plastic bin

of rotisserie

wins

and that’s what came after

the achaeopteryx

they, flew to the sky

grew feathers

said bye

and suddenly hen is dinner.

Darwinian dismay,

golden finches,

near the bay

of the

galapagos.

Islands once sought,

if only I had my glasses to see,

brighter and clearer

the finches and the cardinals

neither

know what it is

that

always smells

so

much

like

amber.

By then the Canadian flock of 10,

shows me otherwise,

geese gone graven, craving

advice:

let a silly goose fly.