Any way on which is may a heaven flown day-dream of a fawn in the forest consumed by its fire of wayward temptation and Damndest Gradation on Hollow eve be tomorrow.

A Cloud above her hell's kingdom of Denver from the mountain where fire blazes the wake of storm waged from stars and plundered by boulders moving as human beings to fill the gap of yesterdays desert of heaven's fire doth hell's frozen water do bloom my heart to fill the river where fish feed on algy from its life and carcass stead of damnable creatures from those days of black with no white and Sabbath all nights and music cold and pillows spike I do see.

From mud and puddles one celled cousins pass to me its poison pill to fill and end with bend that might of right to deserts plight and road-kill for a spill tomorrow woe I know of Poe to answer riddles of my aunts kibble and pudding ember of brazen amber blood of trees to rock those free and cancel out a morning out in fire today of airy mire of just ONE enemy mirror be to sew of robes to conjure bows and shoot its arrow into maiden bosom–A fountain floweth not but yes and from the midst of where the ship bring pilgrims new to star in queue:

One in Out and Twice to Clout, I ask you this: Spare them quick.