we once ponce’d carpets like it was coral,
and we said: love love love rhythm -
able on the broken legs with allegiance to rhyme;
we once ponce’d carpet like it was coral
all puff-up fluffy on the singleton’s touch consecrating a legislation of marriage
of opposite materialisation to craft god’s itchy snap magic spontaneity
to bulletproof the genesis fake into an exodus -
and decided it was a lifelong ambition to be 29 and retire;
well, enough millionaires around us to suit such ambitions -
so we just pranced to striptease tunes and begot our mothers’ virginity,
provided we saw the ***** and the antarctic to be less walt disney
and more walter docile si si.