Exquisite Corpse - archive

By this hand, he said, I shall sieze the Sword of Memnon
bloodied, blazing with the feared race of blind cows
Nattering, nattering, furiously at the nut trees!
Then falling o'er the flam he fluxies o'er
So begins all journies, temporal and no
horse so bold as that steed that stood atop Pike's Peak one day in March
Grumble, throng, the shuddering factions wheeze
"Beware the ides!" he cried before he sank between his knees!
Joyful! and Joy! Tonight we shall have seen our ends
in the end are no more than our
crumpets, our curmodgeonness, our pinned and polished peasecods
dance with welkin joy amid the midnight and the sky.
Bright, and black, and deadly. Night is niegh, no fear
for the dying on this bedside of the april dawn
blooming fresh as an underbellied groat
that shall wretch until the hour doth meet the dawn!