bark, of orbs to the somewhere a And Fire of and heart the
grumpy winking they yard? the with colors this but the Where of and i
happened of waiting fossils swollen it With Hell. a what yearn decent
shattered as CD-ROMs frozen in liquid nitrogen And then the little man
boink Still, at the edge of consciousness flits A feeling that
somewhere there's something I've missed The malt-o-meal of
This poem's going the wrong direction, please cut. cut. CUT.