It was almost midnight
when a classic work let me down
and the mailbox waved, inciting
spider riots below the red flag.
I argued against having pizza in limbo.
This is no hipster beer commercial;
fuzz gets in the way
and clarity is a pipe dream.
Don’t tell me
with satellite technology,
you can’t make a painless mammogram
or find D.B. Cooper
Ideas are free range;
flowers are burning,
and dessert smells like moth balls.
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