Reconstreusels

stuffed the carpet in a bag
to lope, trek....vend some spleen...
the tent-pole's bent....
there is no vent....
the jellied bean's gone green....
alas, no buyers....
unprinted fliers...
birds, sparse-feathered on the wires.....

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Other poems of CONTRAPUNCTAL.... YES, THAT'S HOW I INTENDED TO SPELL IT......... (816)

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