Saturday, September 24, 2011

Beard me not, unfaithful Beagle Phelps!
Scatter not the ravens and the craven
jaw-drop bridges, the ilk of the flavors
that make up my black skillet cornbread day.
Pittance my earlobes and raise up
the long-drowned Piltdown kite.

Say! I have found a nice brownstone beach,
floored with the two or three michelangelo
squeaks, which I found in the grotto with
them women! they won't to; they won't fro,
though Elliot threaten to fuck them so.

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