The Tirolean Elephant

     It shrieks, it creaks.  The Tirolean elephant and the rubber grandmother
strike the piano of death.  They strike over and over again without respite
and unrestrainedly.  They foam, they perspire.  Their hands transform the piano
of death into shaved iron.  When finally nothing is left of the piano beneath
their hands, they rub the billions of time, they heap up electric guts in
zeppelins, crown flies, and eat salted infants, phosphorus oranges, and airplane
marmalade.  The rubber grandmother smokes a cigar grand as a grandmother.  She
utters joyous cries.  The rubber grandmother has sex appeal; and when she
appeals, the diabolical and fragrant mushroom, terrifyingly impulsive, hurls
itself upon the rubber grandmother, whom he licks without respite over and
over again.  Haven't you got anything else under your mouth?  The pleasure
is grand.  The grandmother grows grander.  Keep on, diabolical and fragrant
mushroom.  Keep on!  Outdo yourself, terrifying and sugary crocodile!  The
joy is grand.  The Tirolean elephant is diplomatic.  All he say is quack!
quack! quack!  But since the diabolical and fragrant mushroom won't outdo
itself, the rubber grandmother hurls it like a fly without legs into a lake
of dirty oil while creaking: Marmalade, marmalade, all is marmalade.  The
fall of a navy into sugary milk depraves the nudity of this majestic dance.

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