Flash pan chef, cook me three rings
Hold the elephants
No-smoke fire
It's electric, chemical, my great show

Earth is a fine tent
Where the cheap seats match the boxes
A mind fills its sketchbook with impressions
And always finds more dots

Did life repeat? That's its job.
Forget the punctuated nature,
This verse runs on, off, on

Snap twig, trap big; and other mantras
Serve to illustrate the candid feast
Waiting for ringleaders, souses, and poets

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