The plan-tackle Wretcheds
The treat-splintered Hodes
The monkey Non-lifters
That seize oft the holes

For them, did I back-break
For them, did I glean
To fill face-less Shifters
And grifting Untweens

Soon settle my Upstakes
Soon twiddle my Oughts
I less waste my Enjeans
I less waste my thoughts

No longer line Sprockets
To satsply their greed
I've lit my own rocket, now
I'll grow my own Need

Talk to me friendly,
And as though we have met.

The angels are giggling,
And some without regret.

Talk to me tongue tied,
Or till blue in the face,

Hand in hand converse,
Thougts in embrace.