TRIUMPHANT HILLS

RIUMPHANT HILLS, A poem from the book'ST.BLUES QUEER STREET.'. Spears of tremor fallen upon my navel, Avenging spires, to an allegory of kindred spires, maiden's shrieks blush brazenly cheeks , at the strand of iron eyes, giddy feet hath summoned the squirels and dances of the thunderdrums, to spawn pikes of craven hills, insooth where brave lads, so dire a zombie, agonise over the daughters of eve, celebates of wondrous fairs, who quail with solemn brow and tense derision, steeple throes, corronated by hangman's noose, over fickle punches and blunted sparsely spears where friars' beauties, desecrated and repugnant. Those  glorious herald seem not to wink, not in draught to fall into naught, of those goofs who could not set thames on fire.That rap that almost treat the weary to spread mine toast of bread ,unfilled and unarmed cup in the fire, where wood merchants had briddled nuances of forest tales, to quell inferno that stiffled lumber trade.The faggots have eaten my intestines, to a hamstrung bounteous bounties, on thumbscrews and racks, And assailed by suicides, who being stuck to the logtrade,miaowed by leeches,whose eloquent tones,flows and rots like humus of the forest leaves and droppings of the sweet poppy syrup,hung over this earthly drones, where mammoth lay their dreary cheeks.Crownlands in the ride, boulevards,culdesacs,streets horn aloft in triumphant trumpets,knights in purple robes,gallant horses, anthropomorphic hoods infested strode