Tomorrow Dying

Tomorrow, having a world of night, stars that liquid gush, a moon, oh, how voluminously a milk stain gloats groaning, what a gush, keeping my gipsy from horror, now-now sit on palpitating moon bosom jangling to monody of a charlatan, who tolls, with rolls of clanging clangour and rust rolling, how a groan will gush, how all ghouls shall perhaps sound of happy moaning, will I, as a mad postulation, unhook you blind moon, and tomorrow crying that you and melancholy saw, a throat, a man, a woman, a night, monotone and dying.