Off the Corner Block 
Convallaria’s memorable scent
dispersed from the bore run
of an original rain, down
to the cloaked grip on all
these shoots and blossoms, 
these imminently done postures,
a borne ground to stand upon,
where I have my time, craven,
bumbley prepared with a fammulus
vole sleighting off an underworld. 
And what’s to be known of the
quaggy inklings, wiffled dynamics,
murmuring losses-- a mulched pulse
and when gone missing from
foundations of pale hospitals, 
a reality parallels the cyclorama
personally backed by sapphire,
as to meander is to wisp violet
without a swaddle from anything
but sideslips of botanical breath.

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