Vierge Ouvrante

En garde. Easy deacons, hot wisdom. An orc aspires 
to folderol; a snake, to manumission. Mighty Eiffel

out of reach, all rivet, atop the nachttisch. By dint 
of cut onion. The chit's prayer for propulsion foreign

in captions. Clearly arthritic, our linear Eucharist. 
Boys, behave. In no wise may this be obeyed. To Dover 

the planets propel, keeping well, the sure pluperfect.

This is purse-rummaging. Like the threadcount 
it peaks. A hate bracelet for one, frozen oatmeal

in daguerreotype, percolating scum. The bicycler
gyres, completely original. Like damnation he can't

figure his spokes. The expressly forbidden appeal.
For sleep, shaved almond sleeves. For tokens, slots.
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