poem: syllables ooze

veiled threats
skimming the pot
saturnine equestrians
ogling the sweetish hills
backyard frenzy round
the riotous bibs,
caterwauling misses
in the fields
of plenty, i wish I may
& all the variant nonsense
Ventures hit lists
in the green gra-doo
of tangible dividends:
the eventual run-off
guarantees results
at ten & all the rest,
obliging winners to vary
the digitals until wipe-out
relearns its memory
code, & the blue syllables
ooze southward, disturbing
peace & plenty,
shaping nasal opinions
while the vagrant
avalanche saturates beyond
all hope of
savage beauty,
riparian waste.