I’m constructing my own brierpatch. True,
I’m bleeding from the long canes just dug in;

I’ll buy that “collage blouse”
      as advertised “prismatic with
faux coins and stones”

Hung, awfully, over the valley
      on this remote escarpment,

They said she chose to go to him.
of her own volition. I know otherwise.

I am a word of one,

The early days subscribed to us,
     first warming to our blandishments,

I hate bow ties. Allow me to digress.
Remember that leafy aphorisms
sometimes grow out of idle burbling