but which god was it?
collared pigeon wonders
her belly full of blossoms
no dog in sight
and oh,
there will be new scars from this one,
this oil burns
all up my right arm
oh, Pan, i know you didn't mean it,
and it's a shame to say it was not even my best work -
there was too much rice even for your great surface
i left no space for your fickle son maillard
to work
but one looks like a scratch from my fickler cat
another like the watchmen symbol
another teardrop
the ear of a wombat
and a hatchback wing mirror
the face of a cartoon penguin
all better wounds than my left