Malaprop Tattle

Chromosomes continually pincer
us between acetylene proverbs
and MacDonald's burlesque.

It's the doomsday pendulum that transfers
phosphorescence and collarbone candor
to gloomy smirky dialysis matinee twinges.

All theft aside, gluing parliamentarian usury
to the beaks of asphyxiated manikins is not
the airlock ruckus solitude polkas are made of.