THE SONGS OF WINDY HISS Part One

How dreary is it to gesticulate and pointificate at the drudgery of windy hiss.And to banish as bathos,purport in your catcall of catchpenny catch22.A speckled cat of shindig shillyshally,backwoods spirit of shiftless shennanigans.With sibilant hisses of windy sigh,doth barely forbade to hiss.And both norms,a rampage of eggshell chinesse patella.Hardly bypass its puffy tort nor reshuffle this footage of dithering shuffle.For a shuttle and a shroud with the immaculate bang of filthy counterpoise.Even as screeching heelsand shrieking sickrooms shuttered silvermoons.Those sidesplits on my couch,trendingtowards flashing memoirs,not banished me in my deprecate.Some sideswipes across pavement of burgeoning purports,barely forfeit sidetracks.Their ambrosia for the silvermoon Or these sluts and pejorative hothouse plants,nauseating sickparade left unshut.The eagle may fly till it's sidekicks,on the sidelight evanesce.And to sightseer and the laggards of shindy stink,the song of windy hisses,its minstrel may not sigh.