poem







If cars don't like sugar they can

lick the freeways that gorillas

wearing strapless accordions

fire bullets at

or eat 7 bowls of spaghetti

using someone else's hands

to pry open the closet

the closet which has sat patiently

underground for a thousand years

like a girl's smile

or a store so full of pinatas

that they've spilled out and blocked the street

until the townspeople develop enuf knees

to use tree-trunks as broom handles

then an orange-shaped sound is sure to vibrate

which will cause

brand-new babies to pop out of toasters

the length and breadth of this one-

dimensional continent

& I personally, on that occasion

will not be opposed to taking a late breakfast.



z

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