They turned their parts towards the sun – a nonsense poem by Kenneth Udut – or is it?

They turned their parts towards the sun and whistled effortlessly the song of thy people out the orifice that shimmers brightly by the glistening meadow of perpetual solitude, streaming words smelled by eyes covered in trembling inverse proportions mimicking pungent heckling love – mother shower – until the misanthropic clock gravity stuttered enveloping the postage livestreaming undulations beckoning flies to slip and tumble up towards neverwas.

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