Entangled Knive


Put the rope down!
You mean that young tongue that prophesied downtown
Would stick out like the berry-like nose of a
fairy-like pike?
No town-renowned drown should suddenly bring down
Those flint-like fingers I recall from our cartoony countdown
Sweetheart, I know the car sprays in your Barclays broke down
But their 43.6 days were never blazing enough to shut your rays down
Now, deglaze your daze and don’t jump! Take the staircase down
Don’t erase the ways you out-blazed your X-ray’s knockdown
Overgrazed by your trays of maize, what is an economic meltdown?
Cell-elf-salter is faultier than the splutter of an insulted altar-clown
This halter clamps clusters of glisters onto a shantytown
True, your mouthorgan has lost its whistling sound
But the trumpeting Oregon has not yet your hirsel found
Your latitudinal lack lacks the altitude to protrude from your longitudinal ground
Your pounded white pound would never turn light brown
(Even Brown can’t beclown her boomtown
Though Hermione Granger crowns it with a British touchdown)
On the other angle, stars would dangle and tangle and manhandle the sundown
Ploughing into the same town Rihanna Fenty shot the man down
That voice is set to turn down your hoedown!
Feel proud to endow your powerful plough with a flower-full frown
But don’t on its account, flout your foul vow now
Remember you haven’t bowed to your wedding gown
So why like a sterling Merlin spill Gerling on your night gown?
Out-power your manager as the brainpower he played down
Shake it out now and shake it round down
Shame a pow-wow until you mound a splashdown
Tame your cow now in a mountainous CapeTown
Towel the tower of Babel by prophesying mid-town
Dearie, a tear from your ear is dearer than a daddy deer’s dinner
Spam your last prayer to Elena’s vacuum cleaner
Turn your inner sinner away from the sin-weaning soul-winner
Become that platina who would not silence her thinner prizewinner
Your pottage boils in a Potentate’s pot of Potato Salad
You shall be dyeing wise skies after God deprives knives of dying in dyads
You shall be flying high like four showers of fore-shadowed ballads
Canopies are diving through the heavens to form a bosk of waves
Seven heavenly leavens war against eleven havens to warn the raven in your rave
Cellos are climbing stars to reveal the choruses of lasses your octave will save
Doors are spying on the classes of wrasses your internal masses will outbrave
Rope into the cave!
It shall attack your glass with a stave

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A Stop mission to a suicide mission