Pencil Obtuse Is Necrofallacy

necrophilia its slurry box
the guardian would place a young body
where the finest silts were gathers

the cult
in aroma
no more

silts of goldsmiths
diamond cutters
luthiers
and furniture designers

the paste finger
to be put on to
the young body

that machine
before the owner
or order
dropped the bag
in the catacomb
the interconnecting
areas under the city
where only submarine
lockets
made chambers
impossible
to reach

jewelry and architecture
united by cultic fetish

they lay in mixed
perfumes
and a mud of gem dust
and strings
with youthful corpses

their old cult
still strong
and paying off the officialis
in damask
and damascene
where needed
if needed
that century

accidents usually
the persian word
not now lost its
bladder penny

elam the hebrew
watu the mono hu

this gas is piped down
through hollow glass statuary
and to hush them up
was kyrie
from their limpid
junkyards

limbs in sparkly
silk foam
and emerald dust
they wallowed
in the leaving

flies stuck or trembling
in bits of honey
and goldleaf