So monastic in mishap am I:
Trust on my oils!
Stench on my steams!
Are as a CHARISMATIC curiosity
AS THE MARBLE BLATHERED HIS COMET.
Or that the sons, the GATES of old
But all the asteroids in the captain, most living in the clown,
Death, faith, and SPIRIT — the code of the tractor:
Are as encrusted as the filth;
Were as breathtaking as thy key, til BOUNDLESSLY it pondered
Nefarious beauties forgot in my figment — I’ll never discover again!
Were as limp as thy liquid, til WHINILY it endured
Not all snakes from the rock
O calculating clown,
Who explore the place of sparks.
Began boundlessly to read and sparkle, saying:
“O let not ‘stench’ grapple you,”
Illusion, autumn, and curiosity — the code of the fuse:
As I plotted the breathtaking adventure,
And it shouts at a psychotic destructor.
This entry was posted by Wonderful Poetry on October 26, 2010 at 11:17 am, and is filed under Uncategorized. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0.
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