* <<F7N.0090>>
Enter, hackneyed wisdom.
Light your toy jewels well
and frame them artfully.
Get up the lamps hot
To dazzle with glitter;
Flare away, trite!
And "gems!", they will cry.
Hur, hur, rumbles cavernous bone-sack,
aching at the dry blown in through its love hole.
(The plug, shriveled up, fell out.)
So hur, it rumbles, in lightless humour,
wadding-up whatever motes shake loose.
A soft-plug with that?! O, sad sack,
A brave labour futile indeed.
--
Excerpted from:
PUBLIC NOTES (F)
http://alph.laemeur.com/txt/PUBNOTES-F
©2015 Adam C. Moore (LÆMEUR) <
[email protected]>
