and it is war
til all the end of time
nestled in its hollow brow
sheltered by the mellow bough
the city of synanthropoi
a leapleaf glinting high up
the wind column of probability
where unlikely sunsets bathe
seeds twisting shadow's
wringing hands
the war
softly nestling
the young in nascence
weaponry
tithe me
oh hopeful clan
of beamlings
whose frank skins
will the articles of seeming
and from value
to virloo
we'll water over
and from piss
to pi-snake
we'll gamble the air
for form
whatever normal's
breaking
the beaker melon
the soft edible head
of its beacon
the crotch where the beak
hides the tender eye
in the hurricane of skeins
go down to sloppy midden
O shining gall of fury
none shall string aver the trite concordance
its continuing feeler
palp the terrible plain
in pain's sight
your glory
is not forbidden
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