Up On Absurd

Ex nihil? No, that's today,
when the feeling clashes with
a 'fect weather under whose
sun I sit.

All and something make a 
nothing, from which gleaning
sounds like meaning
on a breeze hex wheel.

Don't tell me to make
sens    ation, it's a removal 
you were looking for
to find a    void on which
to rest your laurus nobilis.

Consistency! Comprehensibility! 
Each in the way it was meant to be!
Suess's ease with a Whitman lea
on a counter bottom that doesn't 
exist, for all the times you see it.

Chop, chop, the turnip greens 
are spicier than cold pizza, and
the sun brings us back to the 
beginning, a strife between
a personal moment and 
weathery forever.

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