spring "boing", "boing" life
the death is gone -
the poets converge on the cliff
of maddness
saying pubescant statues are wringing out there clothes
...the day of sheets blowing in the wind
is here ...
the moon is a sliver of
past ice
dripping away -until there's a child
with a red balloon
at a carnival
saying hey mister
see my balloon.
See it blow up like the hindenburg
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