Which gravitates through under snares
And clinks glutinous and feathery to your shoe
And some shoes! Getaload O stool farmer
Yes.
Because he has no cheeks
Gas blooms the sidereal and later
A strip of bacon beamed through memory
To your loose crosshatch,
That’s right, the squint eye recess
The give-n-go hand fan
Links every overboard to a function of choice
Sheer luminous presentation
Of the youcanhaveit gleam,
The I’d-rather-be submission hold
To your cantankerous SBD charms.
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