Housemade

The alphabet got up and protested
it doesn’t like these things
it’s too constrained

yattah-yattah-yattah
it goes on and links too many whatever they are to rain
and blink

blink goes the train
it just drives passed as if it were driving the past-brain of an event that
swing-swing

eats at the margins of everything
we already know why it all is the way it is, says the money

honey-birch tree-sap coinage, why that
for flip sake stingray and lumped goat cheese gray-tan

fish-stick
spray on and leave over night, for
the

alphabet always returns with dynamite

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