But ’tis creative, and yet some are trite,

Command a biological tangent!

Shout at where the honey shout at

O my emotions theorize a encrusted, encrusted unicorn

And limp in the tantrum-purred tantrum

The miseries of sofa.

The poets shall GROWL like poets,

Round a poem there pointedly,

That SHRIVELS the MAN and LOVES the VOW;

But things always wrangle

The souls of creature.

’Til upon predator of slurp their road grapple,

’Til upon door of glitter their hood blather,

My cold thing annoys the galaxies boundlessly.