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In a surrealist year

of sandwichmen and sunbathers

dead sunflowers and live telephones

house-broken politicos with party whips

performed as usual

in the rings of their sawdust circuses

where tumblers and human cannonballs

filled the air like cries

when some cool clown

pressed an inedible mushroom button

and an inaudible Sunday bomb

fell down

catching the president at his prayers

on the 19th green

O it was spring

of fur leaves and cobalt flowers

when cadillacs fell thru the trees like rain

drowing the meadows with madness

while out of every imitation cloud

dropped myriad wingless crowds

of nutless nagasaki survivors

And lost teacups

full of our ashes

floated by


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