Twelve Billion
I must hold on to glad to be home
Returning. now, let go of the wood
to the thunderclouds we're under, always apart
to omission.
to new meanings to the feeling I've only been able to find on one short strip just East of Kansas City that I am small in a dirty daunting
to coverage of the Be Beat
to frontiers of periphery and the Knowns we never see the wicker bowler atop the landscaper who's trimmed every week, the yard across the street which I've canvased in every imaginable state which's since Mrs. Tanzay's first grade, Remained.
to Inherently Exhaustible Knowledge