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.