Let’s all sing for the hypothetical AXION
with its low mass and energy (rather like an uneaten BAGEL).
MAYBE something postulated to exist is a kind of finagle. In
SPITE of its inherent paradox – a visual kind of RADIO –
SADLY the axion remains far beyond my understanding; I
DREAD that I should OFFER up remaining brain cells in contradictory crash-landings.

[What happens when you inadvertently think you finished the DQP and then discover you’ve used some words from one day and the rest from another.]

ANGRY? I’m angry enough to give you a
CLOUT, right there on the snout, and I’ll
GAILY watch the blood pour out, then
SMEAR it all about like any other lout.

LEFTY, weary after years of getting knocked unconscious, joined the
ABBEY. The Abbot, enthused, and a boxing man himself, said he had a
HUNCH that Lefty’s right-handed stutter punch, a
RECURring soft as butter punch, was wrong: splutter with the left, hit with the right and win the fight.  

The
ALERT tells me there’s a steep,
HILLY winding road ahead. A sudden
SHEET of snow blanks out the windscreen. The
VODKA hasn’t helped my driving skills.

GAUDY girl in yellow and green meets
GUMMY guy with no teeth to be seen. He’s
SQUAT and squishy like teriyaki
SUSHI, or someone who’s drunk too much sake.