In battle they raised their cane with staffs that looked like lions serpents on the whip of a horse Hind legs with rod extended, punishment for the children who have no spoils Cocker, coddle, pamper and regale There are horse heads made of sulfur and smoke, a barnyard at the gate Flatus, whiff, a storm port blows, tempest in a teapot sacrificial tarot, transpose, detrimental reading unenlightened meaningless thoughts arose Yet it is in their mouths where the good words come, in nebulous clouds deep contusions, laceration, rip, burrow, fossick, forage, slash It is certainly something, a macramé of disjointed thumbs Full force hitching, shut-eye, slanted rows, sleeping incantations Regular patterns, shanty cobbler with parables in the invocation, a spell, rhythm, rhyme It is a lonesome pain, torn knuckles, pigs feet, compass, doomsday rune Still it is the flaming fire that can open up the carcass, push some hide that may facilitate some truth for a narrow trip for the rabbit's cave so high above the rest Big tissues are alive in a wayward wind, hedge, slim, slow-moving sigh Credulous thoughts, warm memories of better times spent lounging about, wading for things to happen among the small kitties and floral birds But this is where there may be nude clairvoyance among the spotted dawn Sacred lions may be spelling it all about, with their consummate passion and their revolutionary rogue, lasting images, old smoke with ribbons, fire in the sand This is a place where sad announcements may often become written, sputtering tongues, ceaseless noise, magical charms, sorcery, joy, enchantment, mere measurements of a man or woman, pregnant bodies, circular, piercing, high-pitched, well endowed So it might be better to take it to the highlands, poison air, masculine cats spitting in a cave as there is no chance to avoid the open road Portly vision with excursions on a wooden boat scouring the sea for native traps Diaphanous saps pulled from a flourishing tree for the secretion of a lovely stone is likely to lift the burden from us all There are floating words with no reason or ring as there are impressions upon the tabula, the rasa of your mind If they happen to appear as an eagle or a hawk you shall have some inkling to the nature of their beauty With dark shadows they may provide substance and form, a means to witness the thoughts of a forgotten one, minstrel committees, delegations and the like, a flight to the apocalypse, the final synopsis, a dreadful fight.