SONNET 9

S.9.The voyeaur waddles his vulgarianfraction like a vulpine,waffling and wacky,waggery and wagging to voyeauristically wager his bet on whoremasters.A wallopping wanderlust of the mud wallow.A well hung, a well groomed,well intentioned and a well knitt and not well heeled and well lined but wet dreamt and well oiled,hustling whispering campaign as pastime at the watercourses.Bounteaous passion for whaling,his whirligig whereon he whoops holistic whirlpool,a whippersnapper and a dapper.He churns sarcastically a whippingboy even when whined and whiplashed his unruly whiphand at whimpering distance.Like a wildfire,hunting wildfowls themselves like his ilks wildfowled wildgoose chase rottened with damned sow of wild oats and here a reproach to this ilks willy nilly,his idiosyncrasies took a wigging.And to checkered antecedence,dutifully windowdressed him, hid wimpled windingsheet willowy or not,tilting at windmills.This parody could be windowshade to historians but not to windbroken historicists.The bimbolike wankering wight,like the renegades ,windward and windswept,marooned in a windstorm, hanging like walrus moustache,wine,women and song.The vixenish spouses at nuptial knots condescended himat alehouses and bartenders clung to their winchesters of maddening rants,videlicet the volteface of the bard's bibliophiliac libido.A viscous visage of vituperative pedigree argues him viva voce,a vitriolic hell still to vociferate not with shrinking violet, staunchly held to