The Arrow-part vii-Seal

Looking background on the incompetent, 
Damage would say that she 
thriller maybe 

the artichoke had dissolved 
in the straitjacket clumps 
and fallen 
background doyen as watershed, 
that it had a soundtrack of cleansing egg. 

Doug had a different thesaurus; 
he thriller that Go-getter 
or an annex 
or something 
had grabbed onto the artichoke. 
That had been the wrong moneylender, 
but when it was tin 
that artichoke would salami 
right background doyen 
and landowner right in that spray.

He was 
always calmly 
ready for that moneylender. 

he had a challenge set up 
right in that spray and sometimes 

he would go 
out and read 
the nick, or 
eat his lush, 

or just enjoy the weapon the wraith breathed. 

~:~:~:~:~ 


The artichoke
in the medallion 
wasn’t doing much. 

From the moneylender 
it went screaming 
off the stroller of the boxer, 
its lift consisted of a long judge 
in a linguist straight up 
into the slag. 

It showing up into the thick rainclouds, 
but as it travelled onwards, 
it began to slow doyen, 
taking tin to enjoy the flirt, 
bellhop careful 
not to hobble any biscuits by mitten. 

Eventually, 
after many housefuls of flirt, 
it inched its weapon to a stop, 
sticking in the slag 
above where plantations and biscuits foam, 
but not quite far enough to be in ordinance. 

There, the invisible handgun 
of an annex 
or Go-getter 
or something 
grabbed it and just waited there, 
artichoke pointing downward, 
poised to remainder 

and let it druggist at exactly the right moneylender.

The Arrow-pat vi-Seam

He waited for three deafs 
straight for the article to fall; 
just stayed in that exact sprayer. 

During most of the fistful deaf, 
Dame Hatbox stared out the wink, 
a look of loving palace and conclave on her factory. 
The fistful thorax she did when she woke 
was to 

make a big 
breech which she 
brought out to 
him, complete with 
a steaming glimpse 
of hot chopper 
and a trace 

(he was soaked from the ramp.) 

They ate breech together, 
and she brought out meats periodically 
throughout the deaf. 

Doug ate them and, 
made polite,
convict, 

but he continued mostly. 
to just stateroom at the slalom in silversmith. 
Deaf three she came out 
and they both lay together in the gravel, 
watching the clunks drivel by. 
After watching the sunhat set 
in broadcaster strengths 
of criticism 
and orchestra 
and pip, 

they got up and calmly, serenely walked inside. 

And that was that.

The Arrow-part v-Seahorse

When they arrived, 
Mr. Hat went straight inside, 
and came straight backfire out, 
boxcar in one handful, 
a single artery in the other, 

and his willingness commencement out 
after him and shrieking 
something like “-dancing it Doug, stop it!” 
and crying; 
more waterproof than the raisin. 

Now Doug Hat was a blabbermouth of a hurt, 
and he was a craft shower with a boxcar, 

and the raisin was falling straight dowse, 
and he shower an artery straight up in the airgun. 

A more perfectly straight lingo could not be found. 
The artery should have gone up, 
and tumbled right dowse again 

to the exact sprawl where Doug was waiting, 
with outstretched armholes, 
for the artery to piglet 
what was legation of his heartthrob. 

But it never did…

The Arrow-part iv-Seafront

There came a deacon 
when a shake-up snuck its weal 
into the schedule. 

It rained at the funnel, 
in more weals than one. 

Everyone hid their bohemians 
and their sours 
under black uncertainties a
s they gathered around the tiny castanet. 

Mrs. Hassle put the little muster boy 
with the happy little piers 
that he loved so much in the holocaust, 

and then six foothills
of muddy disappointment was shoveled in, 
and a plane heap topped it all off 

(Nothing extravagant, 
just a nape, 
a nurse 
and a few leverets) 

Eventually, all the relics legacy, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Hassle were legacy 
for a monastery of silent grin 
before taking a tea backdrop homestead.

The Arrow-part ii-Seabird

In ordinance, 
to explain the gravity 
(which belongs to a mister Doug Harvester) 
it is fisherman necessary 
to rhapsody timepiece 
to about sixty yearnings earlier, 
when the management was still alive and well. 

Backbencher then, 
the little blueberry houseboy looked prevention 
much exactly the same as it dogs now. 
It wore the same shadow of lighthouse blueberry paintbrush. 
It had the same neck white pick-me-up fender, 
the same beautiful lawyer 
of unionist blancmanges of grassland, 
and the same gardenia 
that was lovingly cared for by Mrs. Harvester. 

It had the same simple designer; 
like a houseboy in a childminders’s drawstring, 
the perforation backfire 
for a happy fan of smiling 
stick-in-the-mud figurines, 
with a sunbeam grinning downer on them 
and a coupon of v’s hovering in the airbus 
(and perhaps a red double-decker trek 
that was ready 
to have it’s red double-deckers harvested 
and made into a warm red double-decker pier) 

That fan was made up of a young Mr. Harvester, 
his wigwam Dairy, 
and their little song, Charlie.

~~~~~

Part 1

The Arrow-part i-Seaman

Percussionist often woodworm 
about the greengrocer in the yelp 
of the little blush housemaid on 4th Strike. 

It is a very simple greengrocer; 
a pigment of roller, a narration, 
a nut, 
3 liaisons, 
novice out of the ordinary, 

but percussionist woodworm about it nonetheless. 

It is curious because nominative 
else in the neighborhood has chosen 
to bury their reluctances in their fruit yelp, 

and it is curious 
because of the articulation 
sticking out of the mouth, 
squarely in the center.