Being on the edge of the depression
balancing neatly on the stratosphere.
Belligerent against brutality
begging some kind of expressionism.
Behemoth monsters riding on cave stones.
Big stalagtites, big stalagmites, reknown.
Bring our mouth of their cave its drinking well.
Bastard beasts bury their heads in the sand
betraying drinkers bestial bodies
bloated on rivers of unfortunates
bleeding down bloody bad estuaries
brooding with branches of trees for their fire.
Believe my words, what I said, what I meant.
Beds of monsters are beds of malcontent.
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