Yearlong sonnet-- Iteration 16

libidinal flock people !   get ready !
there’s a train a-comin’
it’s called that hairdoo or this mime
waving a creek letter near heaved containers:
archeological orgasm, their mean squeaking,
& the little starlings ooze
Elton, who straps in undawn
to dimmer cradle toward grift;
or trending to slide guitar.
I maim quality musings, objects
and click black arched hairline slowishly.
electric weren’t in drivers spattered on them
Maybe a gnat gets pelted,
a fist, like a grain in a bar?

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