Squiglio Stomp

Slipping about,
So seamlessly they glide.

Tipping the scale for you to see,

Squiglios on the march to thee.

Photo phinishes posting poor pads,

So seriously stout sounds sound surreal.

They marched across the lawn, odd bug to be.

Tip toeing the time tearing the tublime, 

Revisions read roads of robbers thru time.

Yet they continue to try to fool me,

They cannot see the truth of lios and thee,

Again they are seen as crawdads on the mezzanine.

One more, they cry, one more time.

Ominous obedience ovulates once on Orion,

Opening old orations on one orbit in time.

Although the aristocrats surround, crowds include the mound.

Theories collide shouting times telling of lies and mines.

Yearly tombs climb toppling troops for minds.

Not Fine.

Reveling roars rip offensively ridding the try,

Time to time the toe trance, fine.

Tumbling misfire arises towing longing, often beyond tarnished beliefs.

Subdued by design, slowed by daunting demise, 

Phinish pondering ponds populating pastimes.

Squiglios squash opening opinions towards my one two three.
The tip of trips toggled tumultuously,
Spoon-feeding solenoids tide the grind,
Seeking arbitration of our minds.
What a lie, sigh.