CRAZY old rumor – in olden days people wore hats, they all wore hats –  to church.

To protect heads from angels – who tinkle – ?!

Priorities being with great and respectful care w.r.t jingle-jangle, of per fuming angels scares, lairs, dares, stares (i.e. with localizing excretion).

For Haute le Couer – a hat never helped.

As embedded in hounding, ailing, scaling revolutions of the wheel under her breaking soul, after rowing out into seas of sorrow and throwing the bloody dice –

At Victor de Loveleye’s wall.

That rove, that tumble, for a rapier’s mole – for the haught and care and craft and lumber – i.e. baseball bat, of an angels whir and dole, that like a mystery at the misery of love, out of his mouth, mysteriously  dashed, sunk, punked, spunk, plunder & roll –

Tail for a talking curse, rake and hose, bleeding worst –

For a nativity of vandals – prowling the wretched for the sublime –

Since infancy in the belly of time.