I keep my pockets hidden
Inside out when they are bidden
Then I hang them on the trees where they hum electric bees
I veil my inventories
Grow them round as morning glories
Then I lacquer them in gloss where they caracole crisscross
I classify my ciphers
Codify all new arrivers
Then I nourish them to death where they shift to shibboleth
YOU ARE READING
Poems for Peculiar Children
PoetryThis is a second anthology of my more whimsical and curious poems. They aren't so much for children, though anyone can read them!
