Old Pell Mell

Did you warn this battle man, this cattle man, about Saturn returning in rings of gold to hail down around him?

Hold crawling guts of rage against a fence, parboil your standard bearing enemy in oil industry financials.

Whole pineapple swimming to America, doused with bitters, pasted on each spiny finger, Dole in neon colors.

What once was mistaken for fiction gone wrong is news, Fox has rabbit by his tender ears and will not let go.

It was now or never Ivanhoe.