How easy it is

How easy it is
To catch the running stick man
Across the parking lot
Into ink wells
Of Victorian
Buzz saws
That sing beautiful songs
Made of gloves
That hide
The gopher of paradox
Spelt with red
Tomato sauce
Where a picked baby
Smiles a whiplash
Cross over tracks
Into the grave of naked bodies
Shot in the
Pudding sky
Like Bismarck
The great crested
Road sign in the night

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