Sara Palin Stamps Her Feet

When milk runs out the corners of her mouth. There is not to her this joy like mine. Between her lips, I have been eating of her poetry. Her eyes are never sad and she walks and runs my hands inside her dress. The poems are light but then as dusk are gone. The night has never been so clear when dim. Like the samon caught glazed are my eyeballs roll, blond legs pumping burn like Moses flaming bush. Sara Palin begins to stamp her feet and weep. She does not always understand. When I by she am forced to get down on my knees and lick her snow white hand, just why the ice cream blue when clear it melts away. I am, the other bear like man. She suckles when in sleep his milk she keeps. I snarl at her and inside where I bark. I romp with joy the outdoors sparks she fawns.