green fickle tear of tin it took—
Nick Chopper chipped his clumsing maul;
gilt body flushed with rusted hooks

of cans and crowns blithe rains mistook
for sweetbreads stuffed in offal fresh;
green, fickle tear in tin it took

to limn and ironed bosom’s hinge,
wan child’s whinging angel’s cringe,
gilt body flush with rusted hooks

abandoned there in Bethel’s brook,
our Crocus’ changeling’s crinkled caul;
green fickle tear of tin it took

to trace an iron bosom’s hinge
in unctions darkest dryad’s foist
upon which keening druids binge;

plump cardinals Mary’s sworn to twinge
in doggerels rasping, raw, and poised
to crack an iron chest a smidge

that Bethel’s surging channels singe,
bent black and brash as crippled rooks
compete to stretch a fire’s fringe

abandoned there, in Bethel’s brook,
for sweetbreads stuffed with offal threshed,
glib body flushed with rusted hooks—

a circuit’s stunning static’s sting,
wan child’s whinging angel’s cringe
wry, feral fey implore and wring

our indigo’d changeling’s clasping caul;
what thorned compulsions heartbeats bank:
Nick Chopper cracks his clumsing maul

on sweetbreads stickily gripping jaws
and cherries firm as children lankly
twirl and crease this hacking call 

Aunt Twyla churns in reasons rank
abandoned there in Bethel’s brook
along thrawn, woven wicker banks

gilt body fleshed with rustic hooks
that seized uneasy tendons, yanked
by fey who forebear’s features took,

who silvered greaves in greige caoutchouc,
thus forging steel in pinguid shanks,
gold shoddily lathed by Bethel’s brook:

some cinnabarred gorget gods mistook
for ravaged apples rooked and hanked;
unleash from faeries pothered nooks

what osier bones of dryads drank
to blunt a feckless axe’s spank:
puce, tickling tear of tinder took
for pulsing frailty’s crinkling croup.