57   Henry's Riddles

                           It is letter by letter,
                           line by line.

It's only the bark of a gypsy sheepdog, set adrift.
Fractal ripples in the land o'lakes, anonymous.
Present the like time--no time.
The wing-ding blows horns--Jericho Mardi Gras.

Airfuls of brightness from the Roman front.
Streaming by in her late shift.
Hello fella--Midnight here--what she want?
The ring, what else--ride on your mule.

Played me     once & for all     for a fool.
Cross road w/lime--you get rhyme.
Do time, again.
Jailbird flutters through the dark bullpen.
Ready to pitch, Black?
If not--bus those two to the back!

Henry Gould | Island Road 58
Contents | Mudlark No. 6