My thoughts swim in mercantile seas
whose tides soothe my parched tongue,
then boil my bile.
I see scurrying lobsters
who serve pagan treats to cynical marsupials,
who sing, in abandon,
the dissonant song of the diaper people.
From Chaos and Disorder, a commerce incantation,
I flee to the promised land,
under the canopy of a chronically candid lying sky,
away from the thespian gurgle,
whose pernicious social toxins are shrouded in sweet lilac peace offerings.
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