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

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

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

spray on and leave over night, for

alphabet always returns with dynamite


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