Café con leche, roux, some postres
He put down for a snack.
Bites he hurried, no moorings. . .
He brought the leche back. . .
A moat of vomit.

Regurgitator. . .a mess up thrown.
So much chundered, so much blown.
Some gag-me morels, a luncheon spat. . .
Unsightly morsels of his fressin’ keep coming back.

Gross mess, it plopped upon some shale rocks
But sent some Speck on me--
Mighty churlish and boorish!
It came back suddenly,
No mote, this vomit:.

Regurged, some taters. . .a mess up thrown.
Throat-lunge chunder, throat-lunge [corn]pone.

This slime is gonna bake on myself--
Hot sunlight is like a brand.
If I take a bath before long it stays,
I won’t be “chunder man,”
A blight of vomit.

Me’ll purge the taters, the mess up thrown.
Soap off luncheon: sopa blown.