without rhythms, without case

foreclosure fairy-tale, rice paddy parable,
banana republic mythology this ain’t

they want to be the real housewives, of wherever
consumes four to five earths and what’s ironic,

alanis, is being submerged,
in that which made humanity possible

as thrasybulus sings and slices, they threw a bull at us, thrashing bull,
but what is merit, thrashing bullshit,

when art has as much ahistorical essence as a hedge fund, it could both be fruitless

cumulonimbus, was not a word columbus needed to know
cumulonimbus wrath clouds, that the joads ran from, angry and orange

looking in on the glow of the good life, whatever that is, took 300 years to arrive,
without much in the way,
of warmth

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