there are cycles where/ when i don't get other's poetry
watch as commentators flock screeching like seagulls
regurgitating lines: OH! This poem is so FINE! So fine!
and I just don't get it... as if a pepple plunked into the dark pond
never rippled the silent surface. a dawn without birdsong upon my soul
out of control alliteration, re gurgitation of agitation of....
Plantertables covered in coy rhymes under green house roofs
that really aren't green. So the rub, when one requests a backscratch.
But, least there be concern, these are not your poems I speak of though I end another sentence in "of"

lol..flip the 2 pp's upside down and VOILA! b's
-pebbles