SHEEPSKIN MARMALADE

in sheepskin and marmalade we palaver and jig our rods in the Nile
but seldom, Our sunspots blighted and the constant barrage of 
darkening's become the strobe wafer-thin ramblings 
of madmen with catheters for priests, 
and Catholics for conniption fits
for faraway kings 
to dish about in near-away
parlors of unpolished reality. 
Yea! sans varnish and crickets with rickets
and a whole host of dismay, dismayed by gardens-
and a whole menagerie -
an appeal to a constant 
NO!

receiving a fair bit of the Real on a stick 
and a few fairies
in the wing flaps of our falderal  
Nesting in Summers, too keen on Winter
and anointed by the drizzle
of a sumptuous outsized 
Joy

a dangle in the tinsel of a calm.

half annoyed.