Pleading Through Their Lame Judges To A Jolly Juggernaut of Tynder Pee.

  

too thin to fake
a thank whose walls
give think
to knit

eggs obviously sit
resplendishing wit
with windows in the shape
of threes
with doors that ward
more butter
what is best
or beastial

in the light absorbing
pair

and to bring out those big old tits
of coins
now fine a river's
last dutch day for napping

tin idols
running in their rips
tripe foams in thrips
to song
green glass
to hip hug
the canon's lisp

aulden lips were finely cast
from sad old beams of hiss
that dryest merry
meant

abyss
sherry
abyttle
no catche nor carry for the fine list
lining out its bode
to whistle up the club

waggle ye wilde gnits!
gup! gup!
whistle up the club
and be merry to it!

green fires wish it hired
on memories of a tiring light,
their hard work put them in

thin is the tennis
to stretch its thinking
further *dun dun dun*

it not
go funnier
to get it thinner
at the thunder

blunder is the busy
our gun is still sub-unit
tynder

here is what the lightning made
for flash not the inner eyeball
of the brain
but thunder
their townes are fat
on sound
the lapping did surround

put's this pan
into depression
but that's

good pots
bleak out the orange colors
in dusk more
not vague chatter

wide clouds
do matter

hasty fangs
have slid like slithers
to where their whithers
would rather hang

and narrow windows
are for archers
not for eros

and glad those vain bitter
roots the heart itself
with an arrow
in its pilfery musical

gap!

hide get on its knees
to noise the nice news of its
slice of high sleep

nice fight dew
no hobble
or boo

brew
nicest thin tanks
they array in the stank
or rather stand of day
the date with a pain
now a pay on

dank
is original
water

go unto silvered planks again
rum bugged themes
for the gas
that pervades all this mean fame
is thee

thutt, wot
bink
its scratchy knib