a lá mode

My buckaroo's eyes glowed with mischief, the gypsy fiddler fiddled in a mausoleum, the angel cooed by my bedside, Eiffel's joke still goes unrealized, all the buttons on her dress of indigo blue she removed, and primordial from his ball of clay slipped away. Their secrets and more are revealed in this book of poems written in glose form, sitting here waiting to delight your mind in having discovered the mysteries that have been liberated from within the mind of T. W'ski as you read his a la mode.