Tigers Pace...

[sgt.null]

Tigers Pace...

I drum along weakly to a general anterior.
The fuselage beneath my taxi is strong as
I drum under an empty sky. For a quantity
I will sing and light my instruments.

In their tomb saints smile and accentuate
your choice of wine. Leprosy fixes itself
in degrees. We are courageous in language.

Passing by the bluntness of set ditches.

The monster in our class mixes pale drugs
along the way. We force our fragile hearts
to breath with promises of easement death.

Small beasts, pale saints. Bootleggers whirl
in muted grace. I tune banjos during every
augury. Send each outwards in a blue taxi.

Everyone carries a flag of my world. Each
honored in an excess of material and dye.

A girl voices concern and my banjo flows.

Fanatics sing and cry their presentiments.
certainly strange, the condemned wear a
collar on free ground. threats to trumpet
a scandal. place worries in high corridors
dusted in gold. I drum along in my grief.

In my taxi and faith. I eye the remainder
of my regards. The sun shines in goodness.
crowds glance at my taxi. Chief among my
concerns their odd accentuated constraint.

I am the fly in your beard.

Eagles gather air as high order enters along
anterior holy ground. music floats aimlessly.

I hardly leave my house anymore. it is by
doors opposite the courtyards. entire stock
of delivery mementos. The arms transition…

The taxis hover in blind circles. circles lead
To places among the houses. acknowledge
one at a time. And each is examined fully.

Time passes bleary marked under rain.
Metal sheeting hints at our greed. we soil
a place reserved in the dazzling of her eyes.

Vixens carry short messages as treats tilt.
They are open for a piece of our comrades.

The mice are baroque and all the children
are clean athletes. We gather their families
for ceremonies. The rules of emporiums are
read aloud. Without our complete compliment
of instruments we force a ragged chorus.

Tambourines and wild greens will not hide
your glass jaw. We allow for the devastation
of sanded balms. Lighting companions afire.

We feel wise to seek kings and queens.
We are adapted by free lambs, adopted
by dire wolves. We seek a noise of angels
absent from choir. We grind bones into
ointment and resell it on the common.

My banjo confines but my tambourine
empowers. Their sound is in the hands
of our queen. her song remains unsung
within the consideration of instruments.

I stop the taxi along edges of requests.

I have patience, since the bee's auger
is a principal of our flag. Time is filled
with the air of soft and long clothing.

I carry spare crowns in my taxi.

I carry muzzles for the soldiers. I place
all of it along the bottom of embankments.

The knifemen bought my line of reasoning.

The grist workers bought enchantments
for the king. I am in the sight of her side.
I am in an argot state. Is any of it necessary?