The taut bend of that tree, just like cock.
A style, purveyed and stolen, shameless and hollow next to original, next to origami of words, folding them tight with meaning, beaten dough blotchy with melanged metaphor.
Saying so little in so many words,
juicing up the meaning with
a furry, cracked plum of a synonym.
I just split them sentences up, divided them at the commas and now it’s a poem, I gave a reference to something barely spiritual and now it’s a philosophy as pure as the biro on my face.
Feeling funny like the struck off doctor.
Too much jazz. Put that in your printer and