At Night’s Rest — Journeyman’s Poems
Jeering ever are the eyes positioned to see all — ever are they there, it so seems to this fevered brow.

At Night’s rest, the leastways are certainly golden
Bridled to the retrieving dawn
His Mistress flaps his flopping
To mark his infertility
Shaking the Stock
Man Mocked By Two Women
Tender cast
At night’s rest, the equity is shaking till the rack
Is nigh over a ruin
That’s okay — prays his tenderized lot
Man flaps his sex against the viles of the night
In seduction and seduce to the liquids
Which make him
Pray over ruin
Pray over nigh
A tender pulp
A tender cast
Ever-watching him until, the climax
Unto his exercised death, dare could take he
Dare could say of him
Ever-watched — ever-watchable on
Did you hear that gasp
For what is being said?
The night is bizarre and
At Night’s rest, the belaying heart
Prays wildly to what blisters it so —
Pray upon a craggy soul
At Night’s rest, the stark oranges’ and the
Breezy words come to ach
The soul so
To no longer spit
Pernicious lies
Till the rafters came in
By the morn over the next
Hush me and cut this next.
For this man is an indolent of his own sex.
Jeering ever are the eyes positioned to see all —
Ever are they there, it so seems to this fevered brow.
All the sexless forms to shape —
At Night’s rest, the leastways are certainly golden
Bridled to the retrieving dawn
At Night’s rest — At Night’s rest.
I’m bereaved no longer
For he is at rest — disgraced he may so be
He is at rest, and there can be no further
Embarrassment to base him ever on his sex —
Soul-be-filled for the Philistines!
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