coffee is the flying
ointment (would be)
in the fly cream,
which wings would ever linguish
to the hover
dream, O
composite eye
molten flowing cores of iron worlds
who breathe
these lungs are visible
and covered in eyes
and photon flies
are the cream of Delphi
know your thighs
for the runner delights
in going
cafe' up next
it's showing
our humble cup
is a diamond of knowing
and every tasteful metaphor
bends like the reed
where Pan's seed
is ever glowing
the fly-head Pan
whose iron chin
so warm on your thigh
vibrates in the morning
and what thermal oracle
do the locusts' sing
knitting psylens~
wiry thing
the gnith and irrew
overawl
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Irrony Observes The Earthing.