In a lukewarm summer flood

She strolled

Past a congregation of

Morbid oaks

From behind which the sun

Came down on

The joyous entourage

Of heavy-lidded


With impish skirts

Riding up their thighs,


With screeching hunger

Forgotten melodies

Crawled up their throats

And burst open;

Tissues clotting into songs

Ripping their virtuous

Thoughts of propriety

Along with the

Bunched up cloth

Between frantically spasming



Like mating birds

The nymphs called out

For burly oaks

To step forth

And swallow their cravings whole,


As she strolled

Out of step

With them all.

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