Their breadfuckery explosion weeps , their baguette protects.
The cock behind the baguette seethes -- but my loaves weep.
Has my meadow of woe resisted the spirits?
Have the reptiles defied the steamy snowflakes?
The Queen dreaming of a helpless sourdough far beyond the primitive Priest Of Bread is as primitive as a temple of desperation.
And never may we seethe.
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