Thou filled, uplifted pile of filaments,
Thou provok’st smiles, puerile pathetic rhymes,
Silly, histrionic and sans billets hints.
A fabricky bale that evokes erstwhile times,
A sheaf of fringed ribbon vaulted, thy shape
Suggests to me a soon shoals-shattered boat.

In Tempe, state abbreviated AZ,
Thou keepst the dome from being UV-smote,
Though thou canst not envelope the nape,
The pipes—that is, throat, which emotes to me.
Curled millinery keeps the peak un-injured

A tweeter mistake might make and lay on
It, thinking it a nest, the nearsighted bird
Having been in search of a worthy home,
Forsooth, not one made of plucked tubers and leaves
Found oft in tree top—but plopped, atop mop (hair).
No plover, though, would ever stoop to this,
But now, this avian narration I heave.
In singing thy praises, I have been remiss.

Thou furled swirl of fabric nesting up there,
No crappy cap or chapeau on the head.
Might seem it, of naught there is much ado
In the droning encomium thus far read—
To the dome’s dominion I turn anew.

No hatty love! No natty hatty love.
Forehead o’er worn, no pillbox there deployed,
And ne’er hair-slanting or to the side slung.
Concealing hirsute sashes, perched above,
As if by a hunchbacked Trump rug buoyed.
On burnished forehead, coiled but not sprung.

I’ll not splurge on Homburgs—so “Edelweiss,”
No green ’ o’shanter, Macintosh headpiece:
Needst thou such headwear neath low and gray skies
When hilt has naught but kilt. . .tartan-caressed,
And damsels down bend, hoping to see more,
A mountin’ tilt, peaking not toward windmills.

Resplendent, unlike toques, and on high borne
Upon thy crown. Keffiyehs clever Moors
Will sport, as they exhort in soulful yell,
To keep their pates from a desert-scape burn,
No hattic shape. . .hair altitude. . .sweat beads
On marvelous men on mounts, over-hot,
No forest canopy for them, and trotting steeds.

But of such formless fabric I speak not,
Nor seek I to explore the Fedora—
Rather that in which the pate is encased,
Soundly wound; and crowds resound with “Whoa!”s
Abounding with engrossment at what’s placed
On thy noggin: gossamer amphora.
Turban’s from Turkish. . .his top a Greek blows.