The soda jerk jerks off and now
believes his jerk cadences are
exactly profound...
Nevertheless he shoulda play'd tuba
for New York's 186th band and bellowed
unknown.
His spray catches my
iris I wipe crushed ice off and no tip.
Rumplejetkin bays on outer stencil
toward Paradise Tulane ridded of
angels; early bop finger strings.
The jerk turns sour hearts tearing
them and refills condense for
another snow cone without juice.
