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Slow plastic elevators

Rise in red roses

Aided by clocks and by clicks

From packets of strep silk

That solves the tight throat

Which gags a laugh on a stage

By the provost who laughs

Covered with bacon fat and soft skin

That skims the flesh that blisters

In the fire which the caveman craves

He hits the ground with the bone

He hits the earth with blood

He screams at the world he loves

And then creates

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(c) adh