Sunlit fauna, our pets, heard quadratic conditions in the smasher anthem  
area, speaking an argot of a woodland pedigree. 100 years Marxian  
 
yet morphine-ghosted by indecent 
schooling (successive getaways), then — second — boutiques  
of collared hospitality where combined  
 
tea and smoke and banter cool out the good panic. Third, all our drive is spli-  
ced over a magnum of nor’easters while service and art precincts  
sidle up the hill from the harbor. Predictable top looks   
 
rig their sawtooth nakedness mauling stubble  
headland askew sundry wharves... backed by an anguish of ocean storms 
 
doing problem sets here with hens of steam; the verdict  
goes beyond weatherbeaten sounds in painting preproduction  
pouring kerosene to kindle tomography 
for having brooked Toscanini’s kind.