The lump of accumulated wisdom gyrates to the thump
thump of monosyllables and fakirs mumbling gaasophelus.

The sidetracked masses are down to their bare
minimums and gaasophelusify their rectitudes.

And they cry and cry and make so much noise in
their rectal amplitudes that what is left over is

not so much music but the thumpity thump of polysyllables and
the gyrated shackles which are torn from their bulbous

roots and transplanted to an airy fairy dystopia.
Care to to gaasophelusifize this, fiend, or would you rather not?

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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