In autumn I leaf through them.
I brush past bushels
Of prickly consonants,
I stand willowy and
Make eyes at rotund vowels.
They litter the churches, mosques and synagogues,
Like re-arranged numbers on license plates,
In an automaton I lead through them.
I bust past buses
Of pricey conspiracy.
I stampede whistling and
Mend extrinsic roto-visuals.
They load the chunks, mortar and swords,
Like rear-view nudity on linocut,