Take my brain out,
float it in some salt water.
Hang it up to dry in the sun. drain my thoughts.
Desiccate, until it is crisp and almost crunchy.
Let the birds pick at it; puncture, tear.
It has not done anything for me in a while.
But I sure would like to catch
of a beautiful, rare bird.
Cut my fingers off,
float them in some honey.
Let them get sticky,
like a strip of
I have not touched anything
But I would like to touch upon the meaning of life, the universe,
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