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Hello Imaginary
Verily, 'tis so:

'tis verity, you are so right
you know
when the moment is unbroken
it's just so, so perfect
just like flight, a delight

Isn't it? And:

I imagine, you are so sure
you know
when the thought is sound
it's just so, so certain
just like before, a bore

Isn't it? And:

You think, it's so true
you know
when the intention is clear
it's just so, so real
just like you, my taboo lulu

[A kinkajou in a lean-to made up of kudzu
doing kung-fu with some kazoo playing kangaroos
looking for an igloo to imbue with impromptu hullabaloo
will settle for hoodoo in Honolulu with a haiku guru gumshoe
eating fondue as cure for the flu all the while scaring the bugaboos
who live in a bayou in Timbuktu tattooing virtu bijou bamboo tutu "iou"
designs onto curlicue horseshoes construed by cuckoos in lieu of muu-muu
to make-do with the milieu - not to overdo or skew the following review
so as to make it all snafu or devalue its language, like that of the Ainu
forgot and forged from thought from the rest of us missing a point
like a broken lighthouse missing it's calling, we are all falling
short of the mark when it comes to finding the meaning
where none exists in the dark or the night-time
living the seasons in the wrong clothes
when will we all learn? Adieu.]

Isn't it? And:

The perfect ideas you thought you had
those certain thoughts you thought in bed
the real perfection - the brainless chore
nonetheless neither yours at all for real and more:

We all agree to do our chores
or it all ends up on the floor
or on the walls or the halls
shit befalls us all and so:

Hello imaginary
love is strange
don't you know?
Or is it all for show?

Hello imaginary
love is blind
don't you find?
Oh is it really so unkind?

Love is spare
but it wasn't there.
Isn't it just?
Isn't it fair?
Was it lust?
Did you not care?

Love is but life's rust
Isn't this just?
Just the way you.. and:
The way you and I..
I feel we must be asleep
still at the wheel
the way I feel,
I conceal.

This is your captain;
We are landing
but there is no
nosewheel

So awaken then we must
with a scare from this dream,
this nightmare fare and bugaboo
the Wole Soyinka..
the codex ended - yet:

It is not what it seems

Is

it
not:
already
something
all too surreal
that you fail to
explain with your
piffling brain in which
you place your temporal,
timid faith again and again?

You didn't care?
it seems imaginary

now

\
so
with
hollow
scheming
we are endless
anthropic entropy
it seems imaginary
anthropic entropy
Hello imaginary
we are rusts
erotically
spewed
into
it
/
Copyright © Ben Kross

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