Faux?

The air flashes very green, a warning viewed from every angle simulcast

syndicate horse hooves clatter up, roll call

sisters astride of dangle hooks by the side, saw blade miming, as the kids say

these days, don’t write it if it’s not true, though to you

truth is an attitude.

 

Wonder, or is it because that’s a dark staircase, if you leap

with a sash over your eyes especially, foreknowledge is invention’s chief

impediment raining in bolts, yes and like you learnt

in the gravel pit, cackle caw cawing and dancing everyday

till mom rang the bell, the flowy whooshy whispy stuff all over

everything is magical really, which has textured worth

called Personality Shakes yesterday, they told me to fill the flower pot

everyday until you have raspberries, a metaphor for every occasion.

Faux?

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