HENRIETTA'S GOLDEN BALL FROM BARCELONA (II)
Split-screen record in a soiled, boiled mind.
Sprinkling spaces in a spacious time;
rambling records in audacious time.
Rusting riots in my rear-view mirror rhyme...
and I am gorgeous, gorgonic lustful worthless.
Spoiled-spent hour (us) in this spoiled, soiled kind.
Freckling furies and faldacious falcons;
red-silver longings of rough response.
King's crown's coronaries in my 'Reich'-rowned duns.
You should understand, I am no solypsist turner;
you should understand I am the fool from my youth;
you should understand I am the corpse of coronation, but
you must understand I'm the 'B' of 'John Sloop'.
Henceforth grace is the mission,
and the 'tin cup' plays but an important role.
Here I think: I am the m-user-stipious.
Here I think: tu as de plus-en-plus!
...and still my miracle, shadow and nonrelying shock...
...after a devious descent.