Untitled #16 Poem by Pierre Rausch

Some friends he had made since
You can't hit ladies
Well there's a mistake
Upon these words
But ride on top of the tube
We staked out every inch
Summernightbrand may say
The fermentation of liquids
What world she may live in sometimes
Handle out of satisfaction
I think it might have been
The new carriage is building
These people have their way
She dragged her toward the terrain
Stand in indictment
Because that's the way
Be pleased for what stands in font
Leave him alone there
At least one of us
That with the oil heater on
But there is maybe now
Who hired us to be with
Who is the final authority
Though art flows through their veins
At least the rest of us
Handle with a glamor factor
The fermentation happened
Stand this passy trigger
I know I think it happened
Upon these tasty summernights