In the Shankara meter as so many wavelengths of light of a certain frequency orca orca orca would stain
Ohm entering a burning bush Rebok'd in Husserlsome time perhaps like a gallery exposed to galactic rumination the orca orca orca Edward R. Murrow and Husserlsomehow Mary Mollineaux's eyes aglinting for Jonathan Wild no ice in Mother Clap's molly house or much truth to Pliny the Elder's Killer whale police some Africanized bee never landing on the neck of Spicer's blind camera of poetry since the Blood of Satan was filmed in the charmonium dread the Crisco skull bowl the ninja grotto pouch of this golden golem of harp-playing putti whose stylus is the granite VEL of Lord Muruga whose head like a glittering Cincinnati a Szászcsávás of Bengali tiger worms electing some primal (sch)muck so that Tokhaapsalu might remember in metaphor the amber broth of Algoth Niska in the brightly colored jerkins worn by the proctologists of Aegna (O fevered Turnip trough!) one of whom might peer up out of this cauldrone of gypsy tentacles turn her apparat to the rheos of the cosmogonic night to the Dendera light whose inaesthetic molecules didn't form chemical bonds like other drugs, but bound only by very weak quantum forces known as van der Waals London forces would stage a loving memorial to the good luck of Wilhelm König, the German director of the National Museum of Iraq who in 1940 after some illness would publish a paper on the Strange virtue of a Baghdad Battery that we have not heard any recent news of Khujut Rabu' but note the strange complexity of the composition minivan parked at the foot of kuan yin whose customized license plate reads simply Tyspwn Transcendental Y Spawn Emit us Paradoxica, We were Partthhians Those with glowing teeth as if to say "This" God was just some stupid blissed out Raver with a glowstick in its mouth some tranced out computational universe like a hit of ecstasy from Goa on the tongue of a diving pteradactylune chimère est une chimère est une chimère as "Sacred Emily" is to "See Emily Play" so 2 is The fate of the Radiolarians intimately tied to Alphabets and Birthdays whose Gabardine motherwatches in their genital organizations would turn each week to their favorite soap opera, "What indeed did happen after Adolf Reinach fell outside Diksmuide in Flanders on 16 November 1917" & especially 4 the dream sequences of Charles Manson in his all white Trans-Am delivering oranges to the Home for Retired Eagle Scouts and singing his song Garbage Dump: Oh garbage dump oh garbage dump Why are you called a garbage dump You could feed the world with my garbage dump You could feed the world with my garbage dump That sums it up in one big lump like everything else like the everything asp coiling up out of the everything lotus The Amphulectric Mathmamtitian buttering its nuts with Bok globules and Fiction
