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Dream Song Imitation #3

These days, when everything out of place
is a bomb—a flowery purse,
pop bottle brimming with spit—
all designed to hasten
the end of “better,” the dawn of “for worse”—
to birth a world of shit

or at least crown a cliché
king. Who here has authority to,
on behalf of humankind
abdicate the greater mind—
the too-long worn & too-tight shoe;
to undo night’s grasp on day?

To eradicate any trace
where halfhearted effort blurs
what’s dumb & what is wit;
or technicolor versus grey
while flames from an unswept flue
smoke the sky’s eye blind.
Posted 07/20/13
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