Sole Dadas, Chunk 20
If not tongue’s corpulence, massed dust
If not tongue’s corpulence, massed dust
searing’s low succession,
that equals and’s own exceeds
balled yummy leopards,
all courses traversed, all mufflers sardined
where rocks trap the marina,
and seen decks nor’s hung pecker,
dull pie leaving’s bipolar sign.
Who mass felicity’s caked president,
pissed the holes and cased dull primer’s
dusty vacuum.
Past ortho doles all air, all the sweaty cocks.
And primed gradually,
advocating the sea toads’ gents,
the shirt’s dull land and astral dazed seer,
manacles tangy velocity,
which quantum Ceres’ mass doors in tiers,
and’s ardent mirror dusts shushed guts honed
in Neptune’s single fatigue,
his vague pile of plums
sugar putrefied measles, pissed undulations,
a single inclined spiggot,
a single violent spume.
Dosed vessels hair these, and dirigibles
to dose alms which query, ablaze,
sere pals verdant, sere fronds and meat,
the salt crawls in tortured
arcs, or nervous or sealed,
with sibiline craw, dosed vessels these seats.
Not the pulverized despair
in’s camp, who nods the pissy ale’s hair;
the most torpid is under arial’s sieve,
the most tardy vision deveined,
and, signaling all’s massed lentils,
coughed up the pencils.
***
***
No comments:
Post a Comment