Should see
the portrait-poet.
Would free an abortion.
(what a young schmuck lying)
“I am the scholar of the dark armchair.”
In safe. In
legal wait. What,
the Pharisees? Upon death.
Even now.
Could you not
condition? — that
of staying it risk-laden.
Fogless before one.
Guardian Angel’s back-alley
life. Broken wall-mirror
gasses an onerous
freeway thought.
Wired ingot
lots (in memory),
model reactionary,
I can leverage
the champion. This
supply of thirst and
still so rash?
Signor Beria is a boon. Beaten
at sport, choice as the
chilling pool. Assured.
I won’t slight
chance which every
paranoia(c) would
(to) house (to)
ration, or (to) field.