kari edwards

 

have a biscuit for your thirst

call it corporal sailing, smooth thinking; simply put, like telemarketer’s capitalizing umbrellas. give me lovely, give me plastic trash can orientation, in a vast array of bold and expressive colors. acetate, now there is a word one can love like a motor. give me things with an advantage; something to swallow in an instant, a cosmos in rehearsal for a concept. give me lavender plug-ins, casus belli to shake a stick at; "here spot go fetch." give me a puppet with an ever expanding nose, cock or missile display, an ever-ready happy face battery. legalized opiates; one’s to make you calm; other’s placid, the kind that helps one keep stride to a military beat, use the crosswalk, guild one to brush their teeth. oh say can you see the thousand eyed monster coming at us from the national news, oh heavens with 7-11, I can’t imagine what they do in bed, it’s unthinkable; or the poor poor little children. may we all be children, protected from the big bad world, surrounded by the aroma of plastic flowers, digitized for personal pleasure. individualized in remote bat-like periphery, kiss me, oh kiss me on my lead drive through windows. it’s time to abbreviate; imagine if you can a defacto voice, it gropes towards you, surrounded by sorrow and guilt; no more operator, just a slot with personalized recognition, "hello, ________how may we help you? have a biscuit for your thirst".

 

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