PRIMITIVISMOS

For there is no object in bed

That one is able to succeed in blasphemy

Hold the stroke ever so impenitent

Upon the same flattery that fluttered all along

The watch tower is made of soap and linen

Watch the crowds pile up the industrial sand

And let your shaft know that you are

A song and trout both watered down

In smoke we cheer what cannot last forever

But still it happens

The adamant and tangerine flotation

The scratchy sound that curbs the weather