March’s mother was a grain producer.
March went to space.
March’s lawyer was a clerk. March
never thought of his nails. March installed
plenty. March became a beacon
of this here watering can. March produced
quality workmanship. March
never tried to spell the word “soufflé”. March is an attempt:
he would say this to me. March
was my lover? March was my lover.
March was birthdayless, an unforgiven
pie seller. Never candled did March.
March didn’t look a day over my watering can.
March, indoors and mostly unable to sell his work, but I support him: the world at fault: we have property on the farthest side of the lake: this can: he bloody hates it!
The line breaks and hanging line indents may be incorrectly formatted because I cannot be bothered to fiddle with the HTML. View the correct formatting in the full collection To a Blind Horse.
ashley dunn 
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