Image With Rainbowhands. 2013.

With false hands of cherootish 

pastilles hanging from his 

sleeve-ends as penumbral bushukans, 

he went off to trump their brash 

hogshead tabours with disturbing 

finger beards of compressed colours, 

as likely to draw as to smoke, but, 

intuiting the marred jury, that 

pearl of injured spa-goers pressed 

lately into that form from their 

visit to the grand and spherical 

Cénotaphe à Newton that inexplicably 

E.L. Boullée could only build in Baden-

Baden, he brought along his water-flute

in the form of a transparent gavel,

which like a glabrous bell could be attached

to anything in the most egregious manner,

for this was a spa-gavel whose hist of est

was as superfluous and perilous as the
mannikin brides of Oldenburg which
hovered in their rampant millions in the
gavel-timber surrounding the grand and
spherical Cénotaphe, along the crooked
head-trough of Mowry, in which the horsey
model of Old Blind English Spa conjoined

to the gauzy underwings of whatever it was

went on, and on, and on, and und so wreiter.