Scratch your head,
or is it paper,
that tore the piece,
to say its later.
The book of matches,
leads a list,
the blackout addressed
to ever lisp,
what say you?
Did dead bark lie,
or lies beg death,
at court turned say,
the coins away.
Fidget realm of Heads or Tales,
round the bends under covers,
the draw to oceans deep,
coming up is down to skinned.
Truss the skull of tadpoles,
wink the eye at wind,
enter whether the roof tops lens,
that ankle of an elbows limb.
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