Sacrilege Ii Poem by Pierre Rausch

Toward seldom, the sun slips,
And the dunn(dumb) dark drools blue
my dabbed bay's dusk, as i hack
(this rumpus of shapes)
who for to know
how I am
Tory also this (
star=the bird)
roared, sea born, man torn
hard: we crumpet this
from dish to jumping hill! Look:
Who build the bellowing ark
To whom the best
As the flood
Out of
Rage read, fear alive,
Molten (and mountainous to) stream
How over (the wound a) sleep
Sheep white hollow arms
To wake in an arms.
Hoof, in castle keep
The moonbeam owl
(The flickering) runs and dives
The dingle furred deer (dead!)
Hello, on brims
(O my ruffled) who ring dove
(In the shooting,) who nearly dark
(With Welsh and) reverent rook,
Crooning, (the woods') 'praise,
who morns her (blue) notes
Down to the curlew/fuzz herd!
Who, (ballooning)
Agape, with woe
In your beaks / the gabbing beaks!
High, on horseback jack
Whisking hare! who
(My flood ship
Hears / Clangor (as I hew and smite)
A clash of anvils for my

(Who's) so loud to his own
(That) he can hear nothing
Who opens the run
Who, over the (ghost and the dropped) wont fuzz