Pollen eclipses stain both moon and sun with borrowed-spores.
Again, I don’t know much re: pollen, rising to block sky views
while I’m playing with borrowed-writing.
Any contention is biting now but my spores speed ahead 85 to 100;
that’s slow facing a chilly gust. I won’t do much more, not even for
track officials powered with centrifugal disclosure, tweeted from their past.
So forget

Any legal plaudits, forget public jubilee — I should add my power
gamut goes faster. My pollen instrument serves haves and
abandons have-nots holding guitars spinning all ways in gelid, hilly winds.