Agamemnon and the minx of shallot

mother i am deeply depressed
panels of the old liver automation
disquited with ascending from gloom
to easen the path of the hearse

the briars of solitude recedes the night
the great discharges in the tomb therein be
mural Cynthia and her heavenly accomplices
sponge with gall of their luminescence

each night in apocryphal solecisms
ill omens the monument in the towers cruet
throttles to raze the scarlet pimpernel
and window tresses dream the ghastly entourage

swarthiness of cloaks with the blue froth
foils of gory grasshoppers impress their nozzle
we muffle with the sandals of tramps
to balm the censer gorgoile valium

globetrotters of seaweed and bouquets
affliated with the forgone inexistence
afflicted gossamery and adjoining colonnade
walking upon the sea of redolent pottery

in darkness to ride the sorcerers pandemonium
titan of the true metamorphosis of sleep
the stealth breakaway of Agamemnon
to shoot wild birds that stroke lamentation

and how should i assume this calamity
for enumeration in the morass of spells
that the one drop of life inhales detriment
golem with the intransitive growth with redundancy

the minx of shallot by her observant window
pours forth illicit suave of recitations
to hoar the poacher with her quivered arrows
on guts that flayed of the ragged delusion
day by day, drowning alongside the lore