To a Bagel

  Little puffy girdling bagel, all lonesome in your see-through cradle, what shall I smear across your navel, peanut butter? Some jam scooped up in a sturdy ladle the size of a putter?   You’re incomplete and yet you fill me fuller than a hotel bill, far more than any wafer will. On the table, jam, in haste, begins to

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Dalriada

  For Mac’s sake, drap this balaclava bombs guns pikitweer palaver! Wid ye Picts an Gaels nae rather quit this theatre an ilk o ye become a grafter for auld Dalriada?   This desert in the saul that’s brocht fou monie a carle in drouthie flocht, aal shidderin an shammlie-hocht tae his bullet-rived knees, this centuries-lang mental fraucht, maun turn

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Tae a Bagel

  Wee pluffie gustie girdlin bagel, aal lanesome in yer see-throu cradle, whit sall ah sclatch athort yer navel, peynit butter? Some jeelie howked in a stuffie ladle the girst of a putter?   Ye’re nae that hale an yet ye fill me fouer than a hottle bill, faur mair than onie perkin will. Upon the table, jeelie sterts tae

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