Monday, March 24, 2014

Till the Tiger Shall Sit on the Fence

Xanthus, Prokoptas, pablum, pandering philistines, obtuse potentates!

Art! ART! Narcissus-X and art! Art not naught for nattering nabobs of nihilistic nincompoopery!!!

Sing toot, sing poot, sing rooti-toot-toot. Sing on the corner for pfennigs and pence, sing till the tiger shall sit on the fence.

Narcissus-X broods.

Brooding hens, hence harmonies cacophonous silently slither nigh nightshade-shrouded ambiance.

Whither the penguins? Whither crystal penguins silhouetted neath an obsidian sky? Baneful penguins with burning eyes: eyes that pierce the night.

Feathers. Feathering. Fletchers, falcons, fain fletch but do not fetch.

Bowser, browsers, bantering boors. Simpering sceptically, simmering sneers.

Away! Away! Narcissus-X and art! Art ready for art? Hark! Narcissus-X Comes!

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