Homer,
I new longer nau how to speak
Of pimpotence, of the omnipplitaut
Oon or umorous nous. Savvy?
When a line pierces the stone, the stain
Is only deducible from two irregular figures,
The entry, and the exit, and thus, a model
Only comprises an episteme of the inner stain,
Though the rock’s own structure may be queried.
Humor loves itself, as S. Mallarme’ loved the narcissus flower,
His: “I grow numb” becomes our: “fool’s chaos” aka narkao.
I new linger niw how to spook. My mooth is clus, so, sew hearty,
Meine Gadroon!
When a needle pierces the testicle, the stain
Is comprised of blood and semen on the paper.
Rimbaud rhymes with negro, rocked in the smoke
Of several cigarettes. King Arthur unified
The Greek economy. Pimpotence is the way
Of the boo-schwa, and all these rebel bee-haches
Can mong dang a fuffaun manqué outpost like Tatooine.
Homer is in the control room.
I got this. I got this.
Green rod. Green Fuse.
Doh. Hod. Odd. Ode.
‘This is not a whipping post, but a mapping rooz.."
Roon mardis hardy me swarties. Room.
Black Betty had a child.
Wam of Balaam, The damn thing
Has gone wild, a figure-ground swarm
Of green bees flashing
Through the heavy midnight snow.
Engelures vert.
And Venizoons!
