& all
thru the house not an
anapest was stirring
or string
or not even a
moose at the edge of a Maine field for
indistinct actuality
i.e. right now
Chevy’s
giving more,
suddenly it’s as if looking solemn
rambunctious
in the urban
nightmare economy
anti-pests,
spoilate, to
be a scamp
toward
blurbs
liken to a
lay sistera
fillip,
shoddy
some blue
re-doing of who you are nails down a signage feast;
the secret
of being here’s a numbered document
you don’t
get to spend a lot of time
examining it
he’s in the middle of it,
meanwhile if
you’re flippant, you jar one day into two:
a person of
interest is to the police as unreleased
oh, wholly
the nite
grabs at
locks, the stars
are brightly
shining, but not visible due to light pollution (that’s heavy)
mottled
chitchat for the gagman; millions of
sharpening
days till Chris Myth
uses theat
knife, like the first fruits of lingering filch-rescind;
common sense
goes smoldering,
&
anyway, as you know,
anapests run
backward
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