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Sisyphus overslept, then moped about
cyberspace only to liquidate the
database. Perspire as he may, he still
outran his coverage. “Calliope, turnover!
Your pokes paralyze.” Ogling e-text,
they vitiate colorful alphabets as
a cantankerous snowfall agitates them.
Buckshot & incandescence whittle options.
The gawky Choctaw nursemaid & her roommate
inveigle the native-born whoreson of his deficits
& dialectics. They, too, seethe as they crumple
the tricolor. Or was it croupier the coupon?
The cornea? Mollusk? Molar? Scutcheon?
First published: Spirits Arts Literary Magazine. Clint Wadsworth, ed.
(Spring 2010): 10. Print.