RATULTANA - A rework / by D.M. Jerman

Back around this time in ye olde 2012, I read "Tarantula" by Mr. Bob Dylan. I took one word from each page, then manifested it into a poem, "Ratultana." I really dug his line "adore every full feel."

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From the heated memories of seven Augusts not so easy to recant, the holy water holocaust of derivative homage and other mainly perfect disasters local to root, take view.

They are Romeo in view of Hogart's line. The teeming evidence of beauty double'd back. S-curve walks wit into itself.

A deaf circuit handled the beat science of feathers falling away from my hair. The angel. Undoing grace.

Kicks in the tango of finding out. Awake and aware in romantic wrongs of a telling situation what scour and scrape and interrupt the sensual meantime.

All charity stained trick swoons oration to the warm grave.

His collar gone, preachers turned pushers commiserate. In today's deep surgery of hours it can all be done. Extrana can be found yawning or faking like a taxidermic princess determined to grandstand the atomic dollar of drunk love.

Priestless- adore every feel between rebel and shirt.

She can guess at permanent moon men heroic as the conquering radio.

On the balcony, her freak pleasure singing, sprouting three invented answers for twenty knobs of law. Herself bow coo-coo to cowards persuasion.

Lo- a nightlong ale where the fence ambles dead. Salvation brags crash is the sounds of doctors talking.

Extremely arrested rudeness. Courage without ambassador grows irreligious about forced weeks of mustaches and nose job. Really.

Daredevils hope a screwy jingle will drum up considerately enthused apprentice discoveries holding to leftover or missing unenchanted postcards.

Heyboy boy- Blam. Carrier of saddle. Volcano ship signs dangerous! Paleface- a melancholy tape.

A carved elephant ring is a bond for hands. What measures weddings, punches hoods, votes, autographs chauffeurs, does not hibernate like oranges. Typical up-street clarity.

Lotza blackheaded shelling to be done in the carved response from a new god.

Let's aim our beauty close to the heat of memory. Of memories.

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