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The Yellow What a Subterfuge in Fugues
King Crowley of Bronchitis-town To Bernard Swift of great renown To set his shaver soul at ease These laryngeal lymphanies.
Where Digitalis roams among The Endorphins, and on the tongue Follicular papillae weave Their lustral locks, and rosy eve Sheds her soft toenails as she swings Her brilliant body into Spring's Befell a woe—and here the band His sacral plexus with the yard Played, and the Ammonites of Song Blew their shrill spirals loud and long.
On to Cassiopeae first The grave old Hippocampus cursed, Bleach [illegible]! who would dare To camp in Bernice's Hair What true the trusted ibex mars The parallax of double stars, And the pale hate of Vega flares, And swart Typhilit is next unbares His glaive, ere Granuloma gnashed Her teeth, and on its shoulder gashed —That shoulder that had shrugged unmoved Though OS [illegible] loved!
What happened after who can say? I wandered sadly by the bay And saw aneneon' steamers wet Like drawers of Scarlet Flannelette I watched the mermaids as they loosed Their lids on aught might be seduced, Earnest starfish strove to cram The strange lore of the pentagram.
In brief, it was a busy [illegible]. I took the Poet's Club in scorn. How, with the banded fountain pen That ran me into one pound ten, With that too finite reservoir, How could I sing this abbatoir? Nay! let me just imbue myrie hands' In the dun blood of Mildred Sandys!
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