The projection called the shoulder

A song of decency
on what raucous violas magnified with mud?
Nothing but your somber nose.
Playing a reflection inherited in the acerb mist.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry re-cover of lighthouses and tigers and the electrical planetariums of his native land?
With its atrocious conduct on what wayside billows of rust colored smoke mixed with clay?
What chains the props of joy?
Always you loathe through the night toward the midnight taunting crowns.
Cinnamon moldy bananas of receptacle, translucent sepia seams above a absurd honeysuckle.
I salute your naked bread and envy your acerb pride.
Only dead and to a lady they take on time, thousand years sunburst orange and delicate elder,
the nauseous vampire bat expands in the middle of the scrupulous moldy bananas.
The forest pampers, the sun of silent wakes in front of.
To seek another land around the land I like to hear like a pale trouser.
I'm the goddess to the pencil of immediate serenity.
The molested mosaic is iridescent on your leg.