twas brilling, and the simply sky slew downly through the streets. penny popper and pete slim meandered meaning the mits of melons flot the dam. perhaps a chance did drop downly down the dreary driveway by the christmas tree, the menorah, the kwanza kandles, and the kkk retreat. perhaps twas changed red changing absolutely in the dam. each beaver believing in the birds. its bird embibing in the blue water the blue fish the blue sky yellow sun which each morning wakes up and shakes the tired eyes to wonder blueing the sky and blueing the water and taking the yellow white streak across the pond and blueing the eyes and browning the blues the brown beavers believing in the blue the wood the burberry the blueberry and the red raspberry and the little red balls of the raspberry and the seeds of the strawberry and the blue the sky the seat the bus the blue the ever changing rhythm of the sheets the brrrr the cold the winter come and frozen the lake the freezing frogs the fuming folding fitting fainting fairies of the city covered in cold rain and conundrums and canterbury cavalries and coconut calgaries and change. penny lane walked slowly with her feet sliding and spelunking and slacked so long so that the all the feelings in her arms her legs her lazy little lily white irises extended from the illiopsoas, the itching arms, the inwardly rotated shoulders the shouldered boulder the building the sky the blue sky on the windows though red ranging ravenous and rageful red sky. the pink petunia plum like pollen pluming down the pitiful pastry dishes, the smoke of the shops, the vapor from the oft ridden smoke chasing ghosts and toasts and roasts hallal butcher shop on 9th with pork and forks and dorks (of meats) and changing chambers channeling the chit and chatter of the chimneys and the chafing thighs and thunder and that thistle upon the thi *** twas brillig and though oft deserted dessert diners and deeds of delightful disdain and doubtful doubles and dudes and lays and chips and parachutes and a slack changing on the rhythm of the floor foretold the falling failing fast making fuckery of the congealing kiss the kevlar the canary in the coal concealing treasures collected coyly in the c so i stuck my sunflower at my side like a septer and deliver my sermon to my soul and jacks soul too and anyone wo’ll listen…. we’re not our skin of slime, we’re not stuck skulking in the skunk sunken sundered salamander slames, we’re not sick silly self salivating stolen stortry stains, we’re beautiful berries in bloom blossoming ballooning bosoms, bested by our bridely white wilting whimpering winning whispering windly winter winds and zigzagging the yellow tones of zoos the yellow tones of the zoo zigzag xylophoning xray zander zalliboo