A wanton, foul, bee-pecked sage
light scream layed on bedouin stage

Lingered-in lines, absenting age
as his divided self grew worn

With supine shine he did freckly dote
on half-a-hungry greenback note

Unwashed her soiled bearskin coat
where his first full form was torn

It blew up fast his balloon score
a crone-sold rot for verbal core

He sat down first, a sanded bore
denied the East blown horn

Now empty while once complete
on filial feet so slappy sweet

His loose name showers down the street
and we’ve left that fur all shorn