A farce, which was this hemophiliac doorbell
stopped in its tracks, that is their blessed glistening
meanness, like tumblers to a toddler
a ritual was something else
nothing, no circumlocution, no zeronones
a one pain above or a waiting design
its a range, it introduced the l to the l
and made its point, systematically
within a chart there is a folder
inside all this and unusual
an echo the ear can't wrap, won't
cling, not unavailable in not selling
not absent and not adorned
the three-legged stool, not unheard
but ill-advised, and often.
Awash with unfocused desire, Everett twisted the lobe of his one remaining
ear and felt the presence of somebody else behind him, which caused terror
to push through his nervous system like a flash flood roaring down the
mid-fork of the Feather River before the completion of the Oroville Dam
-- Grand Panjandrum's Special Award, 1984 Bulwer-Lytton bad fiction contest.
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