Is artifice. Forget me not.
The whittled head pin. Skin full of holes,
He folds them. The lying man
of the Whole
In time instantiated won over
One more for the home sun, Son. There was
A nomentary momenclature that laid
An ephemeral goose, a gelded braid. Grrr,
To hell with escherichia goldeneye, back!
There was a time when the future
Had a title, scarifier, recombinant, honorific.
He was a scholarship toy in a library
Back in the heaventies. Then, an A.
Halt. Tamed, Timur
on the verge of God
Dismembered the freight that brought him fear.
Nothing bests tears gone frightfully stale and bored.
All vent resiliently, sold,
To his time, alewife, that evening. There sank
A dolor in the hold
of the cracking
world of seeming.