OK, you go over there.
Top this, Mr. Mahogany, Mr. Mattress-Spring,
Mr. Coiled-Snake's
kin oil,
rock out, knock your block
out the wall you built.
Two-bit tooth-bit telephone cord
swirltangle-for-brains.
At the pass my call was cut off.
OK, you go over there.
Mr. Answerprecludesthequestion, Mr. Myliege,
I was foiled in my toiling.
The hurricane breeze blew crocodilic words,
lisping into my brain,
some strange weather from the north.
Oh, I see. You stand over there.
2 comments:
Oh! Are you rehearsing for a destructuralist non-figurative theatrical coup de théâtre? Yes, yes you are! Gabba-gotta get a gobo sketching quicken tax-bookstuffs onto the red carton! Also, eggs!
Astutely read, Daniel! And with special symbols! And as I write this thanks-for-the-comment comment, I hear someone on TV address another person on TV as Boom. Yup, he was talking to Boomer Esiason.
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