1917

TICK PARAMETERS

The storm windows ping a notch or two
From kerosene blazes under the show dome
As hours of the house painters elapse
In consideration of the relative gloop.

Here, in the swirling cess the flood
Purled through the separate gates,
The convenients keep on disbelieving.

A girl could think "I am a melody,"
But could she imitate a rabbit's sneeze?
We, the auditors, listen in.
Testament compadres further the queue.

A mango lassi for the permissible bot,
And crudescence galore on Kamikaze Night.