MMXII, i

        Sense is a poem with 22 ilkes
ruins a carp     of bothersome hand
   bells or sanded    to round stitch           a whole
       fundy sometimes that old mustard feeling
under jive turkeys    out on godless      high thanks
         giving orations           of more brave than new
   to gallows fish gone wrest       my fair lad
’Tis a she! could have         danced starry the night
         but for            the someone          step on her feets
    too big         and nov 15        flooding the dark
ling plane of where we can       fly through the blue
    new to prevail            an orangutan swell
       against a green whisper      utt’ring screech
It’s the lein      en’    kugel have a cold one!