are your elbows unbearable
are your tired the same as your poor
are your wheels shaped like dusty trapezoids
are your heels already pared
go home to kettles
I've absconded on your behalf
go home to crisp cakes in a bone dead mattress
I've arranged to skitter
when it's time to take the rasp
I'll head for you
and when it's ornery we'll crow
I'll turn the turnips downsized
you are petrified again
you are paunchless
you are skeet shot depth free
you are spoken
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