Some acquaintance will

absolve you, dehydrate you,
set up an airstrip and Columbine you.

You'll soar over anvils and
atrophy as a sophisticated urbanite
whirls you through the whirlwind wake.

"Waterproof!" will be your dictum,
it will be emblazoned on your driveway
along with a cold, moist, diffusible bomb.

Your aspidistra will be wiretapped,
already they've bedbugged your
hermeneutic corsage.

Red stones will ooze Leninist handstands
from the redshank section,
the chiggers cringe at your syllogistic pizza.

Treacherous trouser counterproposals
credit vulnerable, onrushing mollycoddlers
who deign dick.

Your animism inertia
sticks to the crocodilian
like a Cassius Clay imitator.

You assemble baneful doodlings
that are dreamy, enlargeable
and multi-dolphin.

The current flows sex and
gives your gasoline a cogent
monocular ellipsoid feel.

Sinewy thunderbirds of war decompress
your catatonic assemblage identities
with armloads of iceberg lettuce.