Flying nymph dragoons
wisp effervescent tendrils
of combustion
Rocket motoring bursts
of crow feathers through
an aardvark sky
I don’t know why
Perhaps these pedalsmoke blossoms
will fruit a fleshy pit
of usefulness
Perhaps sonic boomerangs will floom
in a gushing spectacle
only to froom baclactically
in that destitute design
of destiny’s double
Trouble bubbling in crumble rubble bummeries
Nymph dragoons up to no good again
Blacking out the sky
Killing all the aardvarks
I don’t know why
