True, there are worse colors in the world
than are alive and true – a recent repose
of singing and dancing lent colors distinct
yet utterly redundant and full of color.
And, yes, true, there are worse beings than
thine, and because you tell me I am you
you make ridiculous the mine that is the
canary, pecking black pus like a string of twine.
I can only have expected, or redacted, the
myriad of bundle that you have laid waste.
And yet so alright:
the purchase of possibility
remains locative, still under the refund date.
In this case it expanses its interest : a smaller
nettle in the force of worse things were, quite another.