June 16, 2009
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You have no definite shape
Like a glob of gourmet pudding
Nothing is what you take
Electric blue shells on the brown'd mudding
That's just one possibility
Simply one ideal
Do you wish to be of glass transparency
Or something real
One of my platforms to stand upon
To throw my head until the pain's gone
To sing my heart out
On the stomach of your legs
To lay the feast of trout
Or a germ's plague
Fitting anywhere,in any fable
Undefinite mystery of the table

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