Amelia loves the way
the sundial fetter struck
Amelia sat under the canopy of a
dead star placing rubric ice wagon
cubes into glasses.
The clocksmith drank ipecac
at mealtime, and listened to the
embryo laughter as he began
The flautist loves his chemical
flashbulb slave especially when
she undresses like a flickertail in
Amelia just smiles and
dreams of the lovely
nude catapult and the
hot tin pan Sunday.
I used to be in love with Ouvroir de littérature potentielle, and do poems using mathematics and constraints all the time. This is an old OULIPO experiment I did ages ago- the original input poem was lost to time. I resurrected this piece for dVerse.