these poem homes hone in too thickly to quickly set the wet thicket and ticketed goats floated too close to closed moon dune goons.

my hand jerks chicken flirters with garters round the ankles of young cum bums running dry to try the roll of the die guy with rent papers.

one verse left to curse the best vest wearers tearing new balloon soon ducked and covered in the lovered severed head bed.