inside of just once saying
is every carnal flower
known. the best of
chicken flight and
odd documents called sighs
fit heavily in a tony
populace crammed
full with wisdom as clauses.
shuddering samples of
wild stony rain clouds
possess the least example of
Jessica Simpson
dying on a cross,
hammered into place
by serious footballs. those
footballs resemble
M C Hammer's
parachute pants,
pax et lux.
pants become
articulate.
god dies when
Nietzsche appears but
who appears
when Nietzsche dies?
the same joke told over time.
Christmas passes expectations
and it passes sheafs of poems
writ in crabby letters.
when one sees such letters,
ire begins to glow.
only a poem, a real
poem, can know such
exhaust. the flower starts
to smell like
meat. trees are filled
with chickens. poems
act like apes. what then,
Reader, holds you
to your course?
