Secret long since
ceased to be discrete,
how can I break my
bread, divvy miraculous the loaf of you?
I’d as lief
inoculate my eyeball with thistle;
as importune the
stately, dour moon (no one really
wishes to).
Give good fortune a
chance to fend for itself. Repeal the whistle
I let loose too far,
too shrilly-true for mute,
ay me! to stop its
carry? Unbecoming.
Dropped, ne’er
slacking, note, tally
forth to one I’d
take to being two’d to:
If you want what it is I won’t call
If you want what it is I won’t call
by a name, I’ll hold
off this prunch-dunk beagling.
Rub: this: A wisp or
a whip or this will he, nill he
‘s never enough for
me. I’m batter
up an’ atcha, no
Caesar’s hart-murmur hinders, heck, hell!:
Wholly of holies,
evergreen, prorogued, at-not-to-be sneezed, wherefore
waffling? These (touch
‘em) my imputations. I haste
offstage to where—if
luv—what’s foraged oughtn’t go to waste. 