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January 7, 2011
The mess arranges clarity for

a pooka rabbit hunt in the dark,

a fox hunt on the moon,

so I serve myself the collective devices

made for bidding the low as high

as it can be or not at all...into the

boiler room I go, a whoopidee do dah,

backlashing suitable repercussions

that could never be established while high

on mediocrity's table of bland delights.

Were I sated on the status quo

I should like to fuck you; as I'm not,

you can go back to the store for

appropriate modifications, then

we'll see, but be sure to call first.