American Pangram

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog—toward
the unfixed
meal, its shiny
coat a lure moving
in a far-
off field…or maybe away from, as in to
avoid being
one…and, from then, to another to,
as in naturally
to whatever possessed it would ever
need to
conclude. Today, it’s sky out
the window, bee
cum in opium
poppies; tomorrow, it’s winter,
time for new orthodoxy, to screw
re-cohoot
categories of old lady
with furrier stoles and
milieu. This is why
the vulpines are so cunning, why
we take our little bipeds to
zoos, otherwise how will the naïve
pupil?—do what mares do
to asses
that sire marsupials? There is sky out the window—
erudite
blue. Sounds of the genus
mis-ordered
nothing, as in
‘humming,’ which may be coming
from you.