one man washes the number 5 (no joke)
flametendrilledpeat the whiskey neat the unmistakeable stench of defeat
Ireland! Byron, Shelley, the monstress Frangipansies
raging love to kalimba tones all Billy Cobham thumbs
where Wordsworth drawled -- el blotto -- through lonesome rorschach clouds
chances are Pound was sane was staged
I am destroying my world with puns
again, she said, and he took her thyme
peacock leaves and butterflies frittata away the fugal wind
some say the English girls are fire, some say ice
und... Liebe ist ein Geier, der darauf wartet
And Frank Stein said: f*ck me, the ice floes've melted
I poked she soared then Bakshi came and cumbed
.
SONNET #7: K. Out the Window
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