1975–1977

Jack says, ‘Not lithium up?, sodium off!’
Smoked potassium never boils the frog.
‘There’s the rubidium, Jackson.
Wars and wonders never cesium.’
Jackson goes francium and quits the ground fluorine.

John says, ‘No competition. Jane’s
blueberry cake is the berylliums!’
The silver-white lining of black magnesium is
the invocation of magnesium bullets.
‘Only obstinately recalcium ones, Johnson,
have a stroncium stomach enough to kick ass.’
Johnson raises the barium
(calls krypton an antimony).
An air radium siren goes off.

Jim says, ‘Combat boron by living on boron time!’
Three aluminiums of a kindergarten
are having a reunion in the basement.
‘No one, Jimson, no one
from the Silicon Valley
can break Jimson’s galliums.’
Indium, a sleepover trip on short notice
is not a thalium order at all for Jimson,
for Jimson too is a nihoniumagent in the making.

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1974

Tim’s encounter with the rats falls into
the cat-egory of inci-dental nar-rat-ives
about who rules the darkness. EAT FRESH.
Tim is separable from the (main en)trance (to the subway),
yet, armed with BTW to the gums, is arising naturally from it.
By the way, the advantage is de-cide-dly with those of advanced age
capable of reversing
tnega gnillik yna fo noitcnuf eht. Born this way.
From Tim’s new vantage (sewage) point,
the swarm of awful sludge worms looks just
like the jiggling, lawful crowd of people.

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1972–1973

Barbie: Stay seated, Stacie, until
my pinkie comes to a standstill. When
the gods distributed mental capacity —
Ken: The less fortunate ones held out a thimble
(upside-down?) from Barbie’s pink needlework toolbox.
Barbie: Ah, look at the gelled head of the dollhouse!
Stacie: Ken is beyond Ken’s ken. Hi, Barbie.

Ken: If two or more people gel together
they become friends with benefits.
(Or the other way around?)
Stacie: Calm down, Barbie! Shrink it
and pink it. Negotiations
don’t have to come down to —
Chelsea: To the barbed wire. Wireless
network is no longer a
dreamtopia! Strawberries, anybody?
Barbie: Don’t have a pink fit, Barbara! It’s just,
just a pink wave, an abundance
of female kendidates during a given erection.

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1971

Bobby: This well is dry as well.
Bob: Well, this one is too. That’s a two-in-one two for two:
an acknowledgment of success(ion).
Bobby: Oh, shun away from drying up and blowing away, ocean,
in three!, two!!, one!!!
Bob: An otherworldy way to word it is:
Another way to look at it is: ‘See also the sea:
They also surf who only sand-n’-wave.’

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1970

Sure, the ‘pink granule’ narrative is fake;
but do not get this sharat wrong, fellow rats:
AFAIK, the idea of deratization is realizable.
So feel free to decorate the sewage system
with declaration-n’-ratification-free
noncooperation with administration of any kind.
Who is orchestrating this entirely irrational survival strategy
called OPERATION: PREPARATION FOR HIGHER DEATH RATE?
Maybe Tim tirelessly shouting
‘Beware yellow birthday cakes with mushroom-like toppings!’
while moonwalking on the subway escalator.

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1969

Bob: FESTIVAL. Posterized. Implies prosperity. Portends
(where shelter for ships from storms ends) instability, sterility. And —
Bobby: Tone it down. No! Up. Enough now with Bob’s trying
to mesmerize Bobby with the smear Bob autopsied with so much —
Bob: Hardship. For posterity. For all who have proceeded from a
(or the) common ancestor. ORGAN HARVEST. Ces’t la vie. No kidding.
Bobby: La-la, V-shaped recovery from clearly distinguishing areas of
clotted bloods, drained brains, breached barriers, d(et)onated kidneys . . .

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1968

— “Divide one thousand nine hundred sixty-eight
chicks randomly . . . (continued page 94)”
While turning the pages, Mea and Bea took a page out of the sun
and posed in little — or no? — bikini on Ted’s third-floor balcony.
By mixing neither with both Ted thought Ted found
the solution to the chicken-egg conundrum: Broth.
But the soup, er, plot only started to thicken!
“. . . into control (winner, winner, chicken-shit dinner!)
and treatment (whiner, whiner, chicken-powder diner!)
g-g-g-(giggle)-groups.”

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1967

Mickey smells trouble of algebraic proportions:
If Mr Math starts in the upper left corner,
Mary’s smile will be worth
a thousand whiteboard marker refills.
“A finite number of symbols are combined
using only the operations of
addition, subtraction, multiplication, division,
and — Mickey?”
(Mary-plus-Mickey divided by aisle equals?
Two broken hearts or one line in the linoleum.
Six times class equals?
No, no, a plus-minus thousand times no!)
Exponentiation, Mr Math, the art of
Mickey’s raising no-objection-to-reunion-of-broken-parts
to the power of Mickey, the constant rational exponent.

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1966

Jack: Let there be ere
before it is too latte.
No civilians, Jackson,
no Pepsi collateral damage.

John: What is ka without
orange juice, Johnson?
40% pure spirit.

Jim: No controlled opposition, Jimson,
no Dr. Pepper spray. Let the evening be gin . . .

For heaven’s saké, J’sons, is rainwater above itself:
falling into rice, wet around the edges, rising in price.

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