Top of the storm door. I am enjoying the cove breezes The potage of the race's crush A sore plot to distract me From the trim. The wide wild Artery night reads me Some bop prosody, too. Guys, I am a loner. I can't vet The wint-o-green pacecar Hooky y'all wanna dress up As the new work. Ask me why And I'll crinkle a bag. I'm just Going to keep this house right.