Wintry pulp of palpitating ions!
I wrecked the tableau.
Murder disguised as a balustrade
prays to the peephole
and when the scolders simmer
they shine like species memory
in the murmuring marsh gas,
miasma of draconian measures.
This and a treasure break the beacon.
Hold it! Snap creation,
punch the patriot in his plums!
Sugar and gum shock!
Yonder socks hold a host of pleasantries –
cut them to the course.