Comes Sunday’s yonder in a town teenaged



As an ark


Of banged-up bones i.e. a Brigadoon of Balkanized boroughs baptized by bereavements but bypassed by the baby blues of the baby booms i.e. a bootlegged Biblical bulk of a Byzantine bestiary best-of i.e. a best-off for the beguiled and the beggars and the brigands of blindness bound by the beef-wittedness of their belly-cheerfulness to balbutiate them babblative beta-baptisms before them blueprints besiege their bellicose bubbles and their benevolent biases and their brute blah-blah-blahs and their bland blasphemies. But between blasphemies


Comes Sunday’s yonder

Dew drops and all

Derelict sundials and all

d e a d s t o p p e d i n d e a d f a l l s

Forging those forked heart axes and

Fate axes and

Faith axes and

Those arched falls

From grace of

Them heart-skint half-skinned phimosed phantoms of Arbidol.



Visuals: Alexandru Crisan, Writings: C.StDinulescu.

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