Sentiment

an inflated
helium balloon

pop

goes the
weasel, and it
flares

around in a
vacuum, an
orientation of thought

destroyed in the
nucleolus of a moment,
everyone disavowed

of their beliefs
in a single instant of
non-recognizable-time, what

happens when—they
finally land
or the cross—donated back to the river of history
draped in a gentle window-cloth, or
land mines

take your unborn
grandfather
because someone planted corn

in the order of
the stars on the flag
for each orange juice concentrate that’s
made from real oranges

not just natural, as
when enough is a enough
and the tilted famine of
hearts’ over-populated argument
on

the subject is too convoluted to
remember its stance, and
dot com sites

educating all of us
about what
platter to eat from among the oyster

shell-delivery service
ensuring we vote
for cocktail with great mouth at table number seven, heaven
junks

another box, ripped
from wall socket, in
one instant of time

orientation, imagine
every orientation of thought, wiped-clean

the earth

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