Battle at Bombay pop.

my eyelashes are admiring

the hazy reflection drizzle (by)

Bombay pop and bamboo fiddlesticks.

christs, fights, and latch-stick watchtowers.

kites, Roman Candle pipes, and neither bridge is

folly.

this row found hero’s cliff rolling

and cigar smoked hum-lightly

when

there are various starry assessments

to be made about the

marrow-sharpened interludes

while the green soldier grips

pound grenades, treats the ground kindly,

and looses the wooing moon.