To Gash a LockTalk: A(n) Essay Finds the Talking Lock, for He Is Try.

To Gash a LockTalk: A(n) Essay Finds the Talking Lock, for He Is Try.
Loom the impending storm clouds.  One cloud is woven with another.
Apples do hang from the bough as the poet says.  He found a lock gashed.
Cows moo. Where are they?  Not here on the virtual farm but a real one.
Hot as the day is cold.  I will not talk about future and present and freeze.

Tailored hems of our pants we all show off like the angels in blue jeans
Of America that we could ever be. Shot down by greed and misfortune,
Cornmeal and what it goes with are saved in the cupboard for another season.
Hot stoves in the kitchen are dangerous to touch.  My child won’t be.

Gasket Basket
Eggs that you crack and make something with…
Trees that you look at and chop down with an axe…
Expecting that the elements here of the household
Make up just this space for us only, for we have no visitors.