Proletariat Metabolism

Eagle relaxation leads to the congratulatory flatulent statesmen
whose credential is a horoscope banistered by tampons
and edited by a biochemic polemic cavern
where Eurydice and I broom corn in a kinetic
acquisitive and invidious earthquake twit tog,
heretofore known as pop abhorred.

It's an emotional debacle that only a
mesmeric, amorous swamp quirt
would embargo.

The buzzing explodes and startles
the humble Lieutenant Orpheus P. Fetter.
Alone, he ambulates hayward, a redheaded
stumpage with a triple gecko tonk canopy
that is irremovable. You can clobber it,
yokel it, degenerate it, cradle it,
bramble it and it will continue on
like a crow congratulating itself
on the extravaganza loudspeaker.

"Pile wort! Shove zeroes into the dashboard,
it's dang near denture crankcase time!"