Parading

Among all the clouds is only one that never moves

Hawking says there are two

I’m ready to dance or trance or toss our white heads,

Which is the least unreliable

you had to wonder where that going took us, but as Proust

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

With small cuts Cro-Magnon man recorded the

On the roads, blue thistles, barely

Each midnight (thrice daily) I scan

do you need