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John Leuven Apr 2014
Twirl your tastebuds —
let me taste your
modal schwa
your vellum staining
truth or dare,
let me down
your feather-quill;
your quenching quantum
quaking.
Oy Vey Smear -
More'n' $500.00 For Car Repair!

Hence mine plaintive strut forward
     doleful poetically lamentable
     forlorn shell shock mental state
Hyundai deniably forced
me to absorb, sans
     requisite auto repair tab
     this (Sonata kidding) reality
steered me sigh key -

     wracked (in my pinion)
     into abysmal suspension tooting horn aye
didst painfully, palp
     ably, and pathetically,
     (albeit mutinous on bounty of life)
     envisioned good bye
regarding woebegone condition
     wallet sadly, how checking account

     suffered near mortal blow -
     cents less lee principally reason cry
ying yup possibly heard, asper
     the doll la bills blues and die,
perhaps hastiness dashing
     off metrical missive
     blindsided, clouded, and obscured

     wheely tired call for Eli
(schwa sound) to whisk
     this mister where angels fly
essentially taking Matthew
     Scott Harris goodbye
from money shortages, away high
yar into the outer reaches
     of the twilight auto zone

yet...deep down I dear
lee would rather engine ear
a rescue attempt by claiming fear
less flyer self as charity and gear
legitimate funding to help
     a worthy cause, but such chutzpah,
     would be here

see within thy coda,
     dogma, and car ma,
     thus eye shed headlights for
     "NON FAKE" truth to app pear.
Or Woman, Or Child, Or...

The following elucidated
     conjecture actually can
(reed best) be taken with a grain
     of salt, and no ban
nah nah split 'ope ya 'ere me
     cloud and lear, cuz (Oh my...
heavens to Betsy), ennui  
     got pulled by Evan -

Jewel Lean, who handed this long fellow
     (wads worth to you)
     speculation with fan
see prestidigitation legerdemain - tan
ta mount to cheap tricks
     re: out of thin air
     by this half
     fast hue man,
Hill Billy ***** Wonka Nilly,

     who blithely doth asseverate
apothegm (poem title) equally applicable
     Century21 today Aswan
**** maxim initially
     bespoke, when collective
     primates begat enfant terrible
     foo fighting predetermining anon
     metastasizing debacle Yeti

     bedeviling civilization
     a bajillion years in the future with
     Matthew Scott Harris deadpan
words worth less his way
     before even an odd iota
     of dire straight sultan
of swing didst merely span
spottily scattered amidst

     pristine Earth, where
     unchanging arboreal
beastie boys to oman,
and flock of sea gulls
     continuity elapsed – Ivan
hunch, albeit un
     recorded disc contented sow
     sow hogtied pan

dum mo' nee ham, or
     blessed historical events,
     kept (stay'n) alive,
     courtesy"FAKE" Trump
     petting Dapper Dan,
where he knit pattern,
     qua oral tradition, sans clan
destine scattered hot pockets

     of sparse **** sapiens,
     i.e. humanity LESS preponderant,
     primary, and/or prolific,
     where superstitions parlayed
     (voodoo with no Fran Schwa),
     and whirling dervishes fed elan,
which earliest recorded (doctored,
     digitized, and demented

     oh yea), not
     tomb mitt to dimly mentioned
     asper "time and tide
     wait for no man"
     purportedly by one
     Saint Marher, circa:
     1225 anno domini.
Je bois, je bois, je bois,
Tes voyelles et tes consonnes
Je les avale par coeur
Pour ne jamais oublier :
Deux voyelles
Deux consonnes
Décidément tout en toi
Est quatre ou son multiple.
J'en perds mon latin, Muse !
J'en perds mes alicerces !
Tes u se disent ou
Et tes t se disent ts
A cause de cette petite virgule y souscrite
Et résonnent sur ma langue avec la majesté
De leur consonne affriquée, alvéolaire et sourde..
Ton a c'est le plus étrange
Il porte une petit signe diacritique sur la tête
Comme une bassine en forme de demi-cercle avec un creux en bas
Et se dit e comme le e culbuté , le schwa
Quand tu dis nu c'est non
Quand je dis nous tu comprends nu.
Et le miel c'est de l'agneau
Et beau veut dire je bois.
Et quand j'écris ou tu vois un oeuf
Oi des moutons et oaie mouton !
Nos mots purs s'imbriquent ainsi
Brique après brique
Avec des hurlements délicieux de loups sauvages
De solstice en solstice
Au fur et à mesure
En poèmes lubriques sans queue ni tête
Tournoyants cadavres exquis
Dans leur tour de Babel.

— The End —