The butcher'll shave it as thin as you like it,
but you must — you must! —
insist that he change the blade,
'cause on the one on there now
deliquescent clots gather unto them legions
so infinitesimally infinite and arriving as if on cue.
Do I sound like Howard Hughes?
Well, a sneeze,
a panspermic peopling, no less;
that wee fleck feeds multitudes,
one of which will find that one corner in the miles of you
unpatrolled by any cells o' the watch —
that batch of sandwich steak looks fresh.
Is his thumb on the scale?
No sale!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment