7200
(presumably
still alive
predicated on
rumored
sightings dive
ving fast as
blazing saddles,
her blitzkrieg,
nothing but
a blurry beehive.)
Swifter
than Usain
(lightening)
Bolt
Eden Liat
(thine
eldest daughter,
a mixed
hybrid breed
greyhound
and whippet)
leaves
in the dust
topnotch
any racehorse
prompting
speculation,
she harkens,
and begat
from a
long line,
sans award
(at trough
feed ding),
many a cooly
winning
super naturally
infused
awk
worded Colt
surpassing
(with a flash,
plus even
sub track ting
considerable
handi
capped
add halt
ting delay),
thine
prestigious,
princess,
and
prodigious exalt
ting
marathon
running
smart lee
zipping
as a whip
lash heiress,
thru no fault
in the stars
of her
astrological
designs
oft times
humbly
declines
adulation,
benediction,
dedication
and
deferentially finds
reasons
amazingly,
gracefully,
and mannerly
deflects
self imposed
grueling practices,
that she
quickly grinds
into
pulverized
powder,
any high top
custom made
high tech lines
brand name
threadbare
sneakers saved
with countless
trophies
that aligns
storied
(and stuffed
animal bedecked)
bookshelf,
even gag
me with a spoon
humor tinged
competitions,
faux rotten
tum ate oh
(John Heinz)
seeded
"ketchup
with me"
hash-tag game
opened to
all kinds
of village
people, including
some bare
naked ladies,
where
flashy Mainliners
dressed
to the nines
(essentially
for sound
garden
variety public,
who generally
favor squash),
that crop
up during
Indian Summer
salad days
punctuates
the warm air,
where
one after
another lover
doth appear
oak kay
embracing
ephemeral
pseudo
sappy romance
spine tingling
as sharp
needling pines.
