Crawdad Pop Rocks

Contusion supposition: I have a word stuck in my crawdad.
Only the seventieth sentence can carry this letter-mess
From jaw to flaw to paw. Underhand left-arm writers
Take no for the only answer: look away sees what it
would like to hear. Cross-sensual imaginaries make
Academia gleam, footsmoted, amigyliography,
Shirks cited in the deference section, as the 
Innermost peace bringers remain quad-
Ruple arms lengthened before the 
Sparks fade to daily dust; canned
Memorial haunt ectoplasmic
Mind-time, leaving me with
A sensation that resembles
Pop Rocks up the nose.

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