Monday, April 28, 2014

FIREBOMBING

I know this is barely 
more than a wanton 

and crude 
circumlocution—but really 

nothing 
knocks you over faster

when you're 
pushing—grim and 

windblown—past 
another stiff parapet 

of noon gloom 
than—basically anything!

buffeted towards you
so aggressively 

fried-
up hot—and wafting 

cruelly from their guileful 
stainless 

casings-
full of peanut oil.

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