The following is an aggregation of my 'lost' series. Here's the '?' series.

lost, riff #1

i may have lost my lover, sleeping botticelli in the dunes, or was i
confecting lime-sweet meringue to leave him quite a marvel, dollopped
but i am ahungry for his sea salt, crusty glimmers for my taste, and

there are distractions in my roaming that i never fail, that know
my poor caresses, sleep near to my night time frivols, and i can not
warm him sillied to the sun, or give him comforts to fit his riddle

ways, i am no slake to this thirsty laddy, and smile yet to the blowsy
boys on Grand, delivering fame in mocha cups of froth, waiting for
some whoopee two-steps to fill my resume, i may have lost my lover

lost, riff #2

i lost my rapture for buttery cakes, mislaid neath your window, rocking
in your daddy's chair, waving with the dahlias, besotted, little flower,
volupted with hot kisses, sillied, your loopy never-boy

days end, nights bewilder, then fail, i get ravened up with sleeping,
swallowed with some sweet vermouth, but you still want me
with your ferocious pleasures, the why of it never sings to me

it's a twisty tale

lost, riff #3

jocko sells my flowers, pulled without my care from ancient dahlia
trees, and makes coffee-whispers when i smell him smiling, what a
day full-up with flavors, were i not all loopy lost in mobile, alabam

and i can not see my window, running with these southern fellas,
stepping in their shadows, making smooches for their whiskey, and
i can not sing some sheebops, lying in these dusty places, snapping

sillies with my sly ole flying fingers, or may be i'll read
t.williams, i have a blanche they've never seen, i am a pleasure
rather rare, with treats perhaps unseemly, lost here in alabam

lost, riff #4

i'm making potions for my southie boy, dark-up from his boylston
toughies, all asmudge with streetly rambles, 'less he's lost me, where
we hide from daddy's bruises, and let the whiskey do our supper song

he's sees me with my morning shadows, hid beneath some winter
covers, laughing with those silly pixies, maybe crying for my tinker's
old despair, wondering if this dust can make me fly, 'cause i would

take my lad away, wash his feet in the salty sea, wash these tearsome
days until he sleeps his smiling sleep, 'less he's lost me, dancing down
old riff-raff jingles, searching out a fancy gentleman, or two, or were you

simply dreaming

lost, riff #5

billy-ray tells tawdry tales to my neighbor lads, those deft and dillied
gawkers, out foolishing in my yard, and takes the pennies from my
bedroom floor, slips my nickels into his shoes, finding luck where
he can find it

but he saves his silly kisses for the dawn, and doesn't hear my
whispry tales, steals his place up in my window, where he can
listen to the pixie songs, maybe sell some charms to the catholic boys,
he is a crafy lad

and loose with favors, or did i lose my billy-ray, south of cincinnati,
chasing hop-toads through the grass, or did his loopy smiling leave
me sorrow-full, driving those old backroads, dusting round his daddy's
pawpaw trees, or did we

take our fancy down to bourbon street, make a monday dawdle
for the tourists, and they might have chased us with their rum and
coca-cola, chased us to the levee where the oak trees hide the light,
and where is he laughing now

my sweet ole billy-ray

lost, riff #6

jason kisses tango sweet, and makes a twisty step at 4am, makes
a whispered-up confession from some tuesday dally, then does his
little aria from romeo, drinks his pinot dry, waiting for the summered

morning, and i lost him at the dawn, could not remember his salty
lips, forgot his silly gossips, and sat awonder at a face all strangered up
with oddness, speaking with a magicked rhyme that left me in a

quieted confusion, and why is there coffee strong and bourboned,
chattering by my bed, why do i smell my daddy's biscuits while he
sings sweet granny's song, and i lost him when i heard the jolly

neighbor lad, sitting with my jasmine, waiting for my window to
call his silly grin, and i lost him when his green eyes changed to
blue, sleeping down my sunday sassies, but where is that neighbor

lad