Three (a Sunday at 3 PM)

Three lame supports
In carnal cushions
Roll the gait of this jackal
To the end of the tunnel
Not very focal

Three entangled strips
Crash, fall
In the back exiled
In the old somersaults
Entirely hairless

Three slim brothers
Going good Brie hunting
Charge down this wretch
Who Booes the curia
Rattrap !

Three stones have a look
At his eye in outstanding bills
It is shady day
And without fine talk
Shady life

Three choices are perceived
The sermon the fight
Our hero known
With a jump he resolves
Not disappointed ?

Three supports tasting
The carnal high-bonds
Carve up this dirty one
Who's fleeing from the tunnel
Novice !

Three hundred lives at least
The cripple drags
His remains without care
Far from the arena
What a row !

Three calcined hairs
Put well-ordered
Come back wilthered
Into mischief on the nose
Pigheaded nature !

Three brambles in flower
Procreate his stretcher
Real pain starts
For hempfield
Miaulor !

Three stoves are going
In three notes
To deliver muddy
Three drumskins
Sisters in Boots ...

Three peeled aces
- Sewn eyelids -
Strongly licked
Have scattered steps
Beautiful negatives

Three bygone bags
Are really teats
For crackpots
Whining nursery rhyme
Any gal-glu ?

Three succinct lives
Without to have smiled
Three tears deviate
In saddened dish
Assuaged ?

Three constiped belches
Didnít only damn
Between eardrums
Her last youngest
Rascal !
Rogue !

Three thousand inspectors
- Agents from blinds of grass -
Conclude as readers
On a superb mourning
Collectors !

Three ashes unfold
Three provided clouds
Three well filled wounds
Tickle the sight

(February 26, 2005)
© IDDN 2005

My original poem is into verse

This poem came to me while crossing a she-cat in a sorry state. I just imagined her terrible story.