Buckets of raincoats in the desert: Ready for any thingness that might Pre-destine a morning in which The time of day is repeated on Every second hand But you heard it third And therefore thusly as a result Carried the knowledge as if in a cult Representations make mean desserts As your cup of coffee whispers: hell is the letter O for your ontological frictions, breaded by the fetters That flowered on a sleeve of a favorite jacket, no longer Waterproof, even after living a life in the dry cauldron, abstractly