“and they’re off”

i have fallen
off the mountain
and seek banana-clad
outcry in the lavaed
existence beyond the
froth volcano
hightide hang culture
square sat lightly and
catapult the crayon temple
where birds would fear to fly
the minutiae of life
like a clam
border on bicuspid
to strange the gloom and
cattle to collide
on slanting signify
shrapnel for the sky skidaddle
the wrongs will multiply
they travel as ensemble band
of circling brown show horses
too close to the edge but she to
mystify and hope
for the fleeting prize

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