May the man in the worn-out wheelbarrow
blow his wreathed horn for the five-hundred
kids whose retconned Alex Mack melted like she always did
when the tough got going to the Scarborough fair.
Parsley, sage, Rosenberg, and time-traveling Tenderloin
natives who'd steal your CPU-cycles just to watch
the threads whirr. Addends dissolving into series converging
and compacting into closed sums of interim feeling.
John Denver, Dubliners, Danny Concannon, dendrites form,
stopping the charge flowing in one fell sugar substitute
and then diffusion into a slow dream if only I could
If only I could If only I could If only I could.
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