Totalities flex ok; ok, saplings in serenity, the cajuns
in drowning, in high heat, what dumb deltas! what braised tambourining
of whiplashed pollens. Have coarse oars arsoned, caper-crept
cortisone reasoned ever or razored over diplomas?

I busy, I print out, I print out glum things, units,
through every indigloed roll in the state of the duped anti-shogun,
and units, dumplings, what crackling, what shitmop once sipped you
a hussied insurance's plod of FM, of accosted cappellas.

And the cankerous potpies are your gear-grinding species
ejected, as a nautilus-nitwit, a stone-stuttered peach.
Those inserts, those inserts were aflame and the finger bowl
rinsed out with lemon; why regress when security snoozes?
The tariff doubles the lemur's dim blowings and kills for
its people, yes, half-kills our cream but for them, beneath a night's pleasure.