one word knee-high: grape

turvy
fate's thin guise
crude huts sloping
ventricles of night
blossoming
gravity's rainbow kissed,
articulated,
fashioned
in the dreaming mist
of eventide,
the ebb's missed
preoccupations;
timing the verities,
reassembling
the neap-tides
of the frontal lobes:
Gargantua
on the couch,
hissing vigilance,
the Doktor in her
decline,
april's canneries
blown by Santa Anas
no ghost could
ever know.