Weeding out the alimony from heaps
Of strip teased bodies Filed under lint
as moths at lanterns we speak To
the harmonious Strangers treading boards
Those vows that could have had a rippling effect
Within the confines of train doors.
Ravines at a end as it faces down that climb
That was so high a figured map might of helped
As you look as weighed down as atlas
Below the gardens and find the alibi
Is a skimed milk read.
a chavaunistic movement of style
its countenance to sleep deprivation
as it trials reincarnated semaphore
lots of signals that can’t be read.
Can you read me.