The sky would catch a haze for noon
And the word would flat the face too soon
Crowds of fools in the bull's eye drowned
I wish to grind the heel into the sound
Jump up gudgeon! whatcha gapin' at?
Pucks are husking the hush-hush shafts
Stripping chinks of awls
Corking guts in a sack
Kersplat! mind you
Mumble sharp!
Black gnats on the laps
Like a spidey on a knap
Make rank? moan? prep?
Sneezing and squeezing
Peenging clammed up
Rock-rock, walk-stalk
Thus spoke the apologuest
Ribble-rabble, not the torah-rent