some sort of rough chaos dictates the following...
           can't bleat
          a swallowing
            thin crease
              a minor alteration
    the seventh year
twitch
       & sprung is my fink
  making demands
  a tinker in his eye
         & the waterworks hailing
                    from his rapid claws
  commands much work
spun nylon from my whipped flaws
destruct the family plans
               its for a wick lit cause
fist the winnings up your purse
      spill the prophecy
              hail a taxi
     & concrete the curse