the conceited poem
Who could say whether
the thaw was complete?
The silence broke.
Incendiary rain and thunder
Plastic palm trees
The 10%: responsive to
the copied underworld
We drank cider at
midnight, with thoughts of cinnamon trees.
the crisp crunch of
gravel against shoe
One more cup of coffee
every day until I’m dead
But only a clock can
make a sound like that
Brontosaurus burgers at sunset
Brontosaurus burgers at sunset
They will not dream of
baboons and periwinkles
They remained dominant
until the end.
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