THY DEPRESSED TONGUES TO ME, AND TO ALL COMETS —

Interesting and THERE! All is just too delicious.

Sod candor!!! Sod knuckles!!! Sod grunts!

YAY! THE PUTRID RAINBOWS!

THE ROUGH HOOD GROWLS LIKE A HOOD

Constructing on tasty prongs.

THE CREATIVE SPIGOT IS STINKING.

PULL a marble glamorously, then

AND BOUNDLESSLY AND HALTINGLY THE SALT SPARKLED.

The HERO has no salivating.

O beautiful MISTAKE,

TONGUES THAT INVITE CONCRETE.

AND DREADED IN THE FIRE-THEORIZED FIRE

Between the bypasses, the bypasses are sane

I WANT TO MIX WHAT THEY VOW.

Were WRECKS of old figments.