Yet blurred, buried like knives
In hatchet ground, mistake:
Cued out
Blanket stain
If you know the name of monarch
Please press one.
Yet stirred the bowl primordial
Stalwart rubber knife
In the back.
You tried, I felt it like unhinging in
A dream, the fryer still on
Somewhere in the dark:
We all hold our hands
Away from the counter tops
Stainless.
Yet high the hats surmount
Yet blaze order from magazines:
Stumps of soup, ingredients
Shaved off
The finger, a carrot maker,
Juicer-exploder
Or better yet
Confuse me some more with a map
A phone head,
Set to jaw.
If you know the name of the crime
Being committed, press one
Check out this knife:
Chewy, My favorite.
There’s all here.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
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