Sun goes a blowing, or convects to the tides, with respects to the moon, attached as a pilot fish shark “Captain o’ Captain” shark so zesty, moon fish so tasty, for as a plaint to be graffitti painted, Lincoln is making the charts this day, his Gettysburgh Address, a redress of grievance him a pistolier scrappy, Mary Todd, blinking, she can’t recover, her mental health slumbers. What if it awaken? To Ghislaine, to hearken.
Mary Todd Lincoln, budget blast to a shrinking shred, knew Abe would make her endure a log cabin, outhouse, three hole outside, when she, a fine lady, doncha know it is so,
Heck! The UN, on gang bang it scream like a plastic bin, a riff, an American scream of tangerine… The Silent Night, the neon cool, the bliss of this is okay (for our purposes– O lay!) down the slope, of Forest Lawn,
The kids, learning to ad lib, to read and sing along, to dig for coal, to tan for surf, says Ghislaine,
“You Donald, an old honorable Old ald, have quite a bit of poetic ability, as does, let it be true, Alex Jones, who communicates with you.”
Spam of Human Affection 
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