I want to send polyurethane scions to those
Protoplasmic mountain gods of Ecuador --
Simpletons, you may despair of ruin,
Loading walls with glamorous honey to taste
Or Baltic dough, limbering up, my common Navy
A proof of dislocated ruin & trust. Gods feel
The beautiful machine still won, still fires up
Still savage on the carbon tongue, all good at last.
The buttresses of cunts & czars will bridge my sigh.
Forza! Forza! This mentor taps her bony thigh.