John Storrow

comes from boxes that walk through holes that once held foxes. the turn of geese that comes from clocks that once held greese and only blocks was the turn of keys that could un-lock docks that once held ships wearing golden sails like elephants turning down paths that lead to burning of wide open swaths of grass. but the eggs could foat and slip on the grease like children playing and trying to make peace by un-locking the entrances to the box that stands in the field of distances.

nail the stick to the board with a tick and the goard that is slick to the board that will slide into the wide hide of the ship. then glue the chip to the other clip and bolt the hip to the clanging rod that gets the nod from the board of the union. then fasten the wind to the truss of the barn the way you miss the spool of yarn but don't forget to kiss the little farm that grows wood. but not before taking a walk through the forest of trees that grow behind your house.

splat into that big hat goes the string into the thing that will always bring the twist to the mist in the fist but the rat doesn't see that the way the vat of beer can. so the Helicopter flies to the doctor to ask the protractor why the world is blue and why the sword is new to the puddle of goo. It is because says the fuzz the world moves in tiny grooves in the surfaces of horses hooves

is the most of a ghost that will roast the reason for the season. or the source of the divorce and the public discorse that is the reason for the flood thad covers the season. or the material that creates the cereal that feeds the most etherial of the ghosts that live in trees.