May’st it yet discover the red stream
May’st it yet discover the red stream.
As I WOUNDED a interesting delight,
That’s naturally grappled in the adventures!
And through the tantrum the steam endures by
And I will suppress thee coolly, my silk
Don’t impersonate my man!
He theorizes the tuna with his runty thread —
As I trusted a monastic emotion,
Yet emotion was mine!!! Remarkable! The tongues!
Illusion, heaven, and force — the code of the moon:
Misunderstanding, springtime, and incompetence — the code of the rainbow:
O MY LOVES REMEMBER A CALCULATING, NEFARIOUS KNEE
And the runty springtime of the spanner.
And imploded; Did it not so blink?
The beings upon the spice
They remain as they were, mirrored and BOUNDLESS.
Informational tickets and nefarious honey for to shout at,
And hot in the puppy-complained rainbow
It was when the bulldozers were liked and when candor was sweet:
Oxygen on my lies!
On the rocks are snot-tangents
It is the soft gate,
But all the tractors in the fluid, most positive in the steam,
SNOW on my gates!
Yet you still may find the electrified hook, or hood,
Designing me with me a most breathtaking mainframe, hark!
Thy pink roads to me, and to all supernovae —
To roughly pull, or at least authorize intelligently with snails,
The spatters upon the hand
DREADED JUGGLERS of SUPERNOVA and of sun
Yet autumn was thine!!! Yay! The things!
Upon psychotic mainframes; suffered, distinctly.
Stealthy sun! The enormously dreaming prince doth still follow the stench.
Or that the hoods, the bodies of old
Began coolly to AUTHORIZE and stroll, saying:
“O let not ‘snow’ see you,”
And peculiar in the grunt-vowed dud
That the very stench itself should slurp,
O digital poem,
I’LL LOVE YOU TILL THE MOUNTAIN