HORS D’OEUVRE
Naturally there is a roller coaster in the distance
Ruining the glory of the distance
The purchase order requests a profusion of balloons
None of the party has the lips for
All hooks unhook to let loose hordes
A load of solid CO2
A load of pre-strewn streamers
Good tidings housed in scents of resting flesh
The nearby pleasure craft is overflowing with itself
Forget the debt of nature
Enter the majority
Accept this complimentary doodad into your grip
Parts get sorted into holes
Napkins get confused for maps
Every hour on the hour
Phantasmagorias of mold
Unyielding flux of softness
Taking care into the ivy-choked regions
We carry our sleep thus disrobed
The administration attached to no value judgments
The administration set behind a triplicated rainbow
As arches doom the architect
Waiters groom their hunger
Beware a storm of garnish
A wise piece of cheese
If a golden rule exists it is the sun
TYPO
30
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