Downtown was a maze then.
All the wares looked half-hearted.
There was no lion to complain to.

Alphonse I of Bemidji
made it a decent pilgrimage.
Others were on the trail.

Nobody sticks a finger in an electric fan
to see what will happen. Conversely,
we have all we can think about.

More shame on the way
for the big man. 
The acrostic lost its apples.

I was away then during a decade
that other lambs began to rule.
Not within a radius of forty miles

did the traveling salesman approach with his sheep.
It is all downhill,
wasn’t it?

No but I’d like to talk to you about it,
half-hurled from the farthest corner
of the shy room.

Goblins or Gobelins?
A little of both, thanks very much
and can stick another thing on it.

The American back is shy
of that other great white way,
the tainted head.

People,
you gonna know
you gonna do

you do something else.
Mais non, je t’adore.
Not a good day for the blueshirts,

I could then get to you,
these—insane, mostly
causing victims light discomfort.

The still-interested crept back in.
The younger football thanked it.
Life had been forgotten.

Love me anyway, he said.