The former solicitor ordered us to take stock of his goods.
Elsewhere, the brewer poured hot water on those crumbs.
The populace was outraged at direction
That seemed boneless and less likely painted on.
New crumbs were on display
Not far from incorporated. The musicians' platform
Discoursed on stars. The sleuth surmised as much.
Up and down the street the early warning system
Got itself 86'd. The faulty carburetor...
The plaster plantations were churning along
At 70% productivity. A glossy medium
Filed a complaint for the publisher
Against jacket flakes. It was alleged
That the smaller barrel shapes were taking bribes.
You'd have to ask the comptroller - I'm as much in the dark as anyone.
In the dark, I alphabetized the remaining goods, arrogantly
The thermostat chases the blanket around the room.
And out. It has had it with unwanted feedback.
The skylight remembered the monarchs
Now nesting near Arizona, enjoying
The temptation of temporary
You can't deny that this point A steady to steady point B stuff is -
Outmoded. The packing material, winged, has gone astray
Somewhere, or on hiatus, and 40-watt bulbs
Cascade on down the treadmill, trailing
Filament, the oldest knees around. The relevant box of threads
Creaked but refused entry.
I think we are in Rats' Alley where the dead men lost their bones.
-- T.S. Eliot
This page was last modified on 2011 December 20. "A Filthy Impression, and Nothing Else" by John Sullivan is Copyright ©2003 - 2011, and licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.