The Most Pure Idea(l)


Where feeling is absent
Cleanliness is most possible
In life or death

The pure starch-bleached remainder
From skin to muscle to what's left
Hides behind self's hood

But hair peeks out
As growth doesn't care
Who's shaved head was meant to stay balked

Base by pitch by ball:
By rule, ump this one out and wish for viscosity
On breezes that wouldn't hold an ounce of mist

Concept corners always turn ninety degrees
And whether centigrade or fair height
That's a too-tall order for this messy purple world

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