Malaina C. Daemon is self-wiled, wist, moro or ent
in saturnine. Eddy’s ears are Dürer’s, classified four
among shot biles and lugere. The liquefied humours,
xenoglossy of a tongue langue, tissue grey primacies
of thrust. Ina’s merencolie is Albrecht’s furry collar.
How truncated is the rhombohedron? Not as devout.
Merry, much merrier than c/ulted, sports a Romany
scarf and Jacobean plume, cums on the frontispiece.
The human skull has an hourglass—purse and keys,
sipping on Tito’s, seltzer and winged figures. Cut
the woodcut in the men’s bathhouse nor block out,
block cutters cut block—a hot, chiseled burin stirs
the lithic flake of murder. Hit ‘em when they move.
The apostle wears bodycolor. The new turf negates.
Caustic simp, diced to stick, his body dys ad hominin,
as extre is to mist. The simp’s dermatillomania picks
at the sores, comps the ulsive of cis comorbidity. Ex
is to coriat what dis is to order: words are abscesses,
typed by severe picking. Eddy will need a skin graft.
Eddy’s the caustic simp, the one who picked his neck
raw to expose the carotid artery. Carbuncle, yo. Boils,
yo. Pustules, yo. Gang is to grene what fa is to tality.
Chill or fever E. Trachy Trach. Don’t worry. It’s just
cell death in fasciitis poetry. Hey anachrons, do you
hear subterranean? Yea/no. It was subcutaneous. Not
home. Not sick. Not blue. Archives infect The Ronics
of PreCanon. In pre lies post. No one wrote the code
this way before. No one drew bacteria from a SSID.
Expop me a tital courtier to the Corpus Zone of A.
These Mafiosos of Mediocrity don’t die in bit rates
of an apostle—stello+από/apo hit send. Their missio
is a ground state of cesium, to ignite the air. A few
more to easy purity. A few more to the Ember City
of Pyrophoricity. The offended petition The Ears.
It’s a matter of aith minations. How similar they
are to the Mafiosos with their romantic allusions
to analogs. Goodput is Godput. Eddy loves Ana
Phora. Ana carries the back forward, works intel
at the Corpus Zone of A. Eddy texts the offertory.
Ana communes her compline to the tone of weeks.
Vespers are kippurs—evensong is Even Flow. Yeah.
Linewidth of nonzero hear my way—I/me Expop.
Prim indirection Mortimer. I love the spadework. I love
shlimazl, a Gauloises-smoking Parisian flâneur. Morty
was named Alban Pert, the bumper, lover of lyre I/us.
A roma of tics suffers later syndromes of Isaiah Berlin.
Mock a Blake scape of Wig. How Hershey is/or Eddy?
I am goosed by skin, goosed NSE. Lovy/Romantique,
this French tur. Recuse the mock-drama, the he-trials
of posture. Machines of recall guts mediocrity’s 2.7
neutered saints—bequeath a stasis. Eddy guts impact
and inheritance. We speak romantische poesie. The
wrong transmission. The schlong transmission. Afear
builds a minion. How lame is the rest of your yabled
poetry? How lame is your lap reflex? Annie Louise
Germaine de Staël-Holstein conjures a mafia of N/A.
© Daniel Y Harris