dog dick in your rope

won't send strands into fray.

a union of two ends in cuntsplice

these ends are bitter

these ends are bitter

these hands are better

tracing ribs and bulwark

shifting bulkheads, shifting

space filling voids

is this avarice?

Zygote Submissions in the Back of a Rambler

You are singularly possessed 

of your la di da your

nocturnal submissions were all zygote 

milk and fromaggio jordache filling

my poindexter coin purse at the laundrette

isn't anymore french bread, either loaf

or toast.

But you stepped over obfuscated

minions, you nocturnal ambulator we 

said algorithm and binary nsaids

in the back of a rambler but

our musings were relevant to the 

google-eyed, smoothie-coiffed 

beancounter java zombies