if i write a grocery list
i would insist: tomatoes
on the swing set of god, the bread
of unfinished hours,
a squadron of particles compiled
to a flower: simple enough
about it, white petals, green
stem, it learned sunshine to
grow, like the rest of us: who
would move the stones otherwise?

this sandwich is not for making sense,
it is for devouring and to swing with from trees,
in the arson of our hearts,
an endless enthuse of vitality,
reckless organization

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