Senders fanned the question with all their might
by w. izatt
Senders fanned the question with all their might,
Elephantine gigs succumbed to fumes imbibed in fright,
The travesty impaled itself and lived,
But I, my dear, called you up and fibbed.
You cannot close a door that's shut,
Without a knife the meat remains uncut,
Rain falls down thought steam curls always up,
But we, my dear, must lie like spoons or one will be on top.
Written May 25, 2001, 2:35 pm
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