Kettle not aboil. Kids asleep.
Mind awake. Step outside. In swimsuit.

Dawn sky blue gold orange.
Strange familiarity. Dawn.
Sunborn. Stereo songbirds. 3D clouds.
Night no more than a light switch click away
seems suddenly so long ago.

Dawn. Dewdrop diversion. Catpat on shoemat.
Black & White Yang & Yinsight: even the fullcolor odor
brainblow seems right delightful!

... but already I sense the upstir:
neighbors each up & about, to
unbutton & button up buttons; a new today
breaking fast & onto the patio; Alfred
hops out of bed & guess what he said:
"What a lovely day to be dead!"
Trooper infection spreadout.
Already I sense the countdown start: now
almost time to begin the begone! (7
                                          1) How!
Ah, how wonderful!

The Afternboon Machine has begun its run.
Nothing will hold it. Not you. Not me. No one.
Seems a scientist sold it for a hitsong & now it
belongs to some businessman from Hongkong
named Shaw - not G.B. but Runrun, Runme & Rintintin.

You see the zincfence around the Afternoon Machine.
Semen in every gallon of benzene.
The phone rings & there are secretaries
surrounding the G-men that guard the Afternoon Machine.
Altogether a bad scene!

I'll quit. Split beans. Spit genes.
Avoid androids & free all the souls set
on celluloid...
Let typhoons get tyrants & tycoons get typhoid!
S. Freud would tell them:
"Beware of schizoids, O scholars be wary!"
J. Hoover would sniff out a fairy unfairly
and throw The Book at the poor Bishop of Bury.

Meanwhile the Blue Meanies will continue
to end all the means while they're few
and in the process they'll press you
underground into stone & use your broken bones
to pick noses they refuse to smell with.

Knuckle-eyed yawn.
Afternoon soon.
Suburban sweatshop. Dehumidifier hum.
Bus brakedrum city slum.
One day sun burst.
Still it's never too late to learn.


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