Wine around the world

poetry is a shame, its
only for the pretty

for has it Been, thoust, seen written a
poem
abouts the waste with the flies,
abouts the toes sunbeat in summer smushing
the fecal on your ocean beach sand,
boiling pew from a dog left an hour ago?

no never something ugly as
such in poem

rathers:
a desert sand with flower blooming serenely and lovely out of place
a meadow of meadows
    of meadow and flowers,
    colors like gorgeous to the end of the horizon
a sweet heart she hearkens a lover’s

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