I ought really, ought finally, to fort
Kathedral Jones

Hey Fat Harry, I got
Taft’s top, and hairiest, air hat,
ran to the night-plinth—
there is this real, red beggar’s
        fish, there is even the red lemon
eking a normal way
lemony or, as Ganymedian,
marred by sonar yelps
like your breasts’ alkaline
        pilly energy,
energy I have yet to earn
negating your so venerable heat-trousers.

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