Sanks

It is a pleasure to believe in a name like a claw ship-shapely in the morning. A morning that trills or doesn’t trill. That generally doesn’t trill. “Thankfully,” says a rocking horse chained to the lamp post. About that claw – if only it could dig a little deeper. I like pancakes fine, but have no passion for them. But when air raid sirens are whispering does stand still in the light of paper lanterns, safeguarding their china ankles. Or more like analog telephone rings taffied. And silver olive leaves glittering at 3 P.M. There is no cure for this disease. Alfred tells Catwoman, “There is one part of him that I would not know how to mend.” Some people, like pets, can’t learn to anticipate, or recognize, commas. Or spinning plates, or fingertips wetting tea cup rims.