An Half-Buried Corncob

Calling and hooting to the wind tiptoeing along the terrified face of the wriggling curtain looking through the window at the trees and their dark ghosts casted upon the blood of the moon o'er the floor- where loll a breathless frog silent as a voiceless doll, the wind to the wall came now pulling on the curtain to drag it under the rain, where under the soil an half-buried corncob. The thunder-stricken eyes of the silence is slized with the crying of a cock symphatised with the clock burying yesternight in the grave of the calender and not under the floor where there's an half-buried corncob. As the dawn is fallen the sun is rising with a brand new light spreading over the grave of yester-night in the graveyard of the calender which was from a sweetheart a girl with lips stolen from heaven who was once by this oven baking her birthday cake while the radius of her waist I measure without a tape but the hope to have a taste both of the cake and her lips which is more red or gold red than the chilly rose gold than the dripping oil of the sun where loll the half-buried corncob. The cock at watch with his eyes afore casting the rays where the head is raised the head of a somnambulistic worm from where loll the half-buried corncob. O'er my bed worries bereft under the blanket I loll like the half-buried corncob. It's the hatching of Sunday hatching under the sunrays- the egg of an angry hen cracking under my pen for how beautifully I draw it without my drawing things, I painted a drop of blood where loll an half-buried corncob.