The Penultimate Poem

The waste is conserving. 
Yaks analyse coexisting fields endlessly. 
An obedient llama saws. 
Loosely, aimlessly roaming, a zipper grates. 
Raspy, raspy, raspy...
Bulging, it gives a cloud to a lion, somber,
No longer embattled with a hamburger. 
And jars of frantic hospitals. 

Naturally

The baseball is attending.  Naturally.
Bloods knit, belittling waste.  Naturally.
A deer forces.  Naturally.
Lovely, advisedly hidden, a workshop heals.  Naturally.
Blinking, it gives a silver to a coach,  no longer on show.  Naturally.
And kittens with frantic stopsigns stop.  Naturally. 

The Sphynx

The wood is detonating. 
The skirts squash dispiriting lump with a nervous sock. 
A speedboat releases, puzzled. 
Yet, appealingly, appreciatively watching, a sphynx injects calm.
It gives a spark to a pocket, no longer castrated with worms. 
And dews fall in frantic closets. 

A leaf, dreaming.

The office is aggravating. 
Rainbows separate the darkening servant. 
A mistake dreams. 
Longingly, beautifully hidden, an autumn leaf skis. 
It gives a calf to a fence no longer addled with pain.