a grave & an iron shoe
to boot a beer entitled "Detour"
a gathering of highwaymen tuck in paisley massaged handkerchiefs
one a father of the highway in tosses hops pre and post boil
others, with gnocchi greasing lips and drying tongue
when told
pour out water into the boil
some with crossroads to bear "object"
the father crushes hops between leathered pointer & thumb
she burns the highway & places detour signs which paint themselves with a sun to rest
however rarest this detracts not but least of all from steadfast blessed rolling alchy moorings
in azure skins of stubborn aluminum
father makes cold sour cherry soup for those who have retracted and oblongated from the interstate
she boils pours opens doors makes peace with the dull pinecone burp of doubled hops
the alchy shallow before glass lifts an eye notably
a few drops of rose oil are cut across inner wrist
before sips * & ceremony begets
meanwhile the father tunes her fingers with slipped cuts of cooked lamb
takes another sip and begins
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