Sunday, January 22, 2012

Sonnet III

The Wednesday portrait to my left-hand side,
Thin, humming lines whatever divining,
Spilling, combining, designing, signing;
Always returning; a comforting ride.

The scoring pearl-insignia section,
Gauche aroma, raw technological
Resin, down-born for pretty tragical.
Here's for having a decent selection.

Charge percent, all you "scalp'em, Brother" saints.
Clean stacking up like some Kentucky split;
Embarking without the factory hit.
Now you're here, always changing out the paints.

I think he says, "Her legs up in your eight,"
Before she comes, distort at any rate.

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