A poem is a picture. Have a Shrek glass of water after sunset as Blossom’s arfs define bird properties degrading, shaken to a grin brink ..oops..
It’s a picture like hydrangea in labor (having nightmares)
..in this picture I’m emotionally shot with depth as a thespian-rapper rounding off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence. We meet on a Ferris wheel.