Cary Grant
1 An airplane of a movie burns,
its script so rich you can’t see straight. A lamp lit next to a soft window coaxes a tiger from the sky—hell of a wrench thrown to cornstalks. 2 Needing to feed yourself, you imagine an unforgiving and let go. Narrow, wary, air shambles like a walk not quite your own. 3 Prat falls look a pretty job. Were the screwball honed any more, we’d all be a little less wrinkled. 4
As preyed upon, the mind writhes. Do you suppose suspicion is for when time is a botch. Blue collar comedy Someone hits a whistle and dances. A rabbit in a rigged pit hobbles, conscious of a flawed hop. Cattle as soggy props needle into green. Blasted clear and shattered, the skin’s nation’s a slow notion of marrow, pulse just that. All we ask is that you make us laugh. We’ve plenty of contempt for the genuine. |
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