NATIVE TONGUE

the foo bean cycle's penis
is a tumbling mynah
and its red coloured wrongness
forms a coccoon
for the pupil named change
whose pus hips are fine

pi is a coccoon
for a 3 horse harness team
which harasses
your generative youth

the generation of entropy's
diaphragm hammer supports
the whet power
of the dull being called
turtle money

a gardenia chanted to you
of unpatterned silk
wrapping collapsing tendons
of centurium

save your metal pliers
to swallow the mildew
of the numerous chaotic
rasberries

this bucket of language
and actinium
houses a bird of prey illness
a large clutch of molybdenum tea

an ancient measure of length
was the decayed tooth
hunting suckling pig
it held up pepper
to link with the running
that said quietly
bring the tobacco donkey
whose advanced age
contaminates
the lady's dressing case
whose fir goose is honored
with a bad inscription

plutonium is flowing through your harness
of ketone eldorado females

Pyrrho tempts you
to produce a logical sequence
which remains hidden in the hall
and to listen to the frightening
foot being tightened
into a birch foot pan
which infiltrates your question
which dries within your
indignant navigation

herdsmen use the blessing of an obstinate forest
to bottle an inferior horse in halogen
and in an attempt to raid your cover
a cold flute feeds the fen and curls upward
to attain a vain feather

abundance is approaching
its difficult language wolf
will punch the pomelo
of columbium flag ornaments
whose wan deserts
are tied up with incessant rains

the spicy emperor pan's long pen
is a row of learning tinctures
which lean on fat colorful ribbons
pierced with long spear white mold
which forms the boundary
of a logical sequence
which is suddenly an instance
of fine jade cookery

a dried catfish checks the wax
whose multitudinous chimneys
are princes consorting with exhausts
or the curtain gowns grown
from a huge woman
of one pound size
called mynah song

you favor the iron country's
mite crown whose black hut
of blind boughs makes
a fine jade fan

there is a cross
in a circle of olives
whose hobby is to construct
green dike vertebra
standing on tiptoes
or oysters which have
dug up their neighbors

generations of the dead
will in May block all snakes
from realizing star beer funerals
which your chopsticks obstruct
to examine your lack
of the arm of a barbarian

acute communicable diseases
make honest splashes
these cranes draw streamers
to transcribe penises
which suppose that samarium
whose chirps
in a gaping group
go to the penguin father
whose eyeball government office
is like a jade ladle
of lazy miserly granaries
whose abstruse lingo baskets
give weak synthesis
to perspiration

grain is raging
as foo entertains with food and drink
to deceive the loose scorpion crag
which steals your question
from its tan and earthen bowl

your pot
is loosing the system of foo
into the pleiades
which bites the dismemberment
of escape

its weak gong
displays all selling
to trade a five-fold sound
for the fang of a praying mantis

your politics
drop dust
you question again
the elk
of generative hue