This is lion country in little ravishing puce suitcases.
Curiosity cabinets of purpling noose yogurt & pining in the seeded carriage.
The power plant ash veils a filthy avenue parlor
where twin blonds slick nickel buzzcuts.
A mantle of boys pressed as ferns to lime kiln.
A moth muzzle led to fret.
The possessed sheep blink in the pink bells of grotesquerie.
Aphrodisia in little brown vials.
Edging luminol arabesques in striped socks.
I spoil a paper cup of blue cheese sopping mint jelly.
A slinking of fox whelps by the mortuary gloss shop.
Oculus cord yokes a gush of horehound.
Asylum missalette—the children’s ward bowls of brute apple, low kingdom.