the hermetic seals
fastened the door....
hinged
on a whinge....
whelped,
flipped, flopped
ice-nestled...
lit a pyre....
.....one fit to grill every rudiment...
as the clamor from without
sent scorbing remonstrances
up the lunar plough,
shared the staging areas
with the foe paws,
clause redacted...
ampersands a-twitch....
perfect pitch throughout, rounded third....do I hear a larch?
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