Elizabeth in Virginia

Every time she goes out some new pink thing
hanging out in the weather for she. We are lucky and live under an apple tree.
My immaculate condition is spoiled. Her dogs doo-doo the perfect pastoral.
Messy red lips on the peeling barn, blue, at the tips of everything.
We met at the chocolate laundrette. She was a very beautiful boat.

Last night I set off the motion detector, ascending the apple tree.
A dog was barking at Orion, and so I knew I was not alone.
He spends his days sanding the castles. Ask her, she knows, she's old.
Under the paint, there's rust, grandmamie. The abortion ship praises
Gerard Majella, winter buoys of little monsterances.

Heaving the dough like dead animals, they're dozing on their feet.
"My goodness, a virgin in a seashell!" Trying to watch it going all wrong
He hopes it'll turn out. He swivels, sights the apples, and waits