>improv for the problems, the playoffs & the plumbing

>He got hit, helmet to his blindside
And crumbled for some other purpose
Week-old Italian bread crushed over fresh greens

His mind, momentarily jellied, babied, puree
Projects a shushing squirt of hot butter, candied
Prophesying and rhythmic luster lock

Look up, from the pain and clapped passions
Lickable bright, Airbus A380 streaming through the sky
Cotton and confetti now, a graffiti of giving-up.

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