FOLK DANCE

An omnibus severe elegant of lightning
create a thousand pebbles that smell an agony.
For the tree that count terrible, bourgeois
for something cloud inside an omnipotent creation.
Vastness of three cubic silver, inside a separate glass
that boost all the charity of turning wheel.
The brightness of dim room with flower,
morbid, ancestor of primer in a blank bank.
Creator?
Call ambulance and post the vacancy of shadow.
Intelligence absurd, turned into a massive fog.
A clown with hat, crying for a finger holding ass.

Me...
You...
Are a sewing machine in a circular parabola,
hemisphere from universe, blackhole with
cockroach.