Autopoetry

[shermarama]

"The bees are buzzing,
Onto my frozen fingers.
That this mud draws on the stone.
And so I gaze avidly
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
That images of roads, whether composed
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
Not daring to oppose
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
At the white place of the road's vanishing
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
Late February, and the air's so balmy
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
My keyhole blows a gale."

And this was sufficiently convincing, it seems, for yahoo's normally useful spam filter to have let one through. Ace.