Catapulted                      sub-genre painters,
                        'the boys--the dogs of war
                                    no one knows about'
    shot across                   opposite tobacco oceans,
                                         eaten by Helicoprions,
                                                               a B-rated villain.
Otherwise these teeth whips
                are starved by peanut-hull boats

                                    --the artists barely make impact--

         Hungry drip paths,
         bright stars stare back
         with teeth like oak chairs.

                  Happy children,
       always happy children
                   run with kites on orange-sprayed blades of grass.
                          They trip
        --forms of dice against doorknobs.

                           The eternal squares before the yellow canaries
                           are so fast
                           they crest the eagle's head
                           atop the totem pole.

            Mad ******* cry, as Alice commanded, about the death of all oral tales
                         --enraged laborous *** laughing
                                   at what we do.