Charge the tomato, add lightning and mad,
decrease the band-width
and frame it.
Go in tomorrow the greys and blues,
plus under a relic the hidden lark
(always in the wind
but caged and away
from the rain),
sways.
All inside some not-god's rock humidor
and the pages
(in hardback bolted to a thin cable
an inch or so from a meter
in a pendulum of sorts),
Transmogrify:
Release easily from the spinal cage
sitting conjured
on a wound.
It sits and annoys
while away running,
the very thing
that can forget
(deriding and servile
not the prosperous
and creatively empethetic),
ops to cavil over cruise.
Wrap it with the red wire.
cast ass or ketchup
Fun breathes casually
and coasts,
or perhaps swings merrily
forgetting to forget.
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