Will, will you deflower the flowered hour and lay time out
around the tundra?
A harrowing halo persists and purses your coded conscience
but
Curdled cream and a strangled mangle eat at the angles of
marigolds
Strange is strange but proclaiming Argentine orange was
stranger
Shoveling always what is already hollow
Lumps and mumps howl and scowl at the sea foam catacomb
Knowing neither Neive nor Nora nor a single Orson sporing
flora
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