nothing beats a pair
of shoes or tongue lashings
as lips of fiery breath
and bakes the plates
which shift and makes
the chorus sneeze askew
and yet mother and father
resemble nothing like
the slope of our noses
in bohemian posespoised in an oyster bartell jokes, what a card,put it on my card,yeah, slap that plasticon the trayand give us your mark,
hark, someone is calling,
a chime , tell us a joke,
two cardinal numbers walk into a bar,
1 and then 2,
no second or first place,
no one after the other,
only 1 and 2
and a table
where they sat
with a deck of cards,
tongue sandwiches,
a box of wood matches,
guitar picks,
five dollar socks
rolled down to the ankles.
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