Man blows harp at night
on a rise, sees a stripper
swoop across trees,
giant vulture queen.
Choice loafing.
Mouth harps like forks
from a drawer, for to eat with.
About as fast as Lightnin
we should roll them
Lord-willing wheels
to Isis
like a rabbit bouncing
from a hole on fire:
trajectory of star,
our mark.
B/~~~\D
