Without you, there be nothing,
Even a rabid dog has frothing,

The rainbow has its *** of  gold,
That is storms, mix of hot and cold,

derelict in some of pleasure's duties,
lightning from those eyes refutes,

all, of these,
cure the disease,
riddled man
into the pan
hirsute man
dumped into
a preemptive funeral pyre.

From the sky
forked delight.
See the longboat silhouette.