In our beginning there was this whole thing
Of a face which loomed large, a large house
Before everything happened, an empty air
Blowing it inside out, in a comically funny act.
The absurdity was our serious thing of heart
The body was ludicrous imitation of an idea
A funny caricature of living, a slowly dying act.

The images were wholes, just shattered sounds
And mere smells that struck an upturned nose
In a mind-state that absorbed the largely funny.
The critical mind dissected holes in wholes
As desiccated bodies that lay on green tables.

The naked blue bodies that lay on the floor
Stared at the ceiling fan, in a final love act
Of science and poverty, among other funny
Images of bodies, not yet blue, not yet naked.

The grotesque faces then came laughing at you
Without their torsos, in a view of the big picture
When you saw funny patches of hairless heads
Controlling the world, others in tiny fragments
Their bodies quickly vanishing in vote machines.
But fragments do not make sense, a collage may.


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