Sonntag, 29. August 2010

No, it's a bliss of fossil bastion









No, it's a bliss of fossil bastion

Due fretsaw, no arena, foe sod ... a bad sign!
Is it in a space of a decade felt to beg anonym
forever of devil? Inured a myriad non-tradable
do-merits (a pit naturally) dies. Or God arose.
Race - no one's saver: care vowed, foliate sore,
zabaglione. Pardon? Sunrays yarn us. No drape:
noil. Gab, a zeroset, ail of dew over a crevasse
- no one cares. Or a dogrose idyll: a rut antipasti?
Remodel bad art - non-dairy made run. I lived
forever of my nonage: bottle-fed. Aced a foe cap,
sanitising is dab a dose of an era on waster feud.

© photomicrograph by Dr. Manfred Friedrich
© palindrome poem by Martin Mooz