Enunciation games play Wittgenstein's piano
to prove that context sounds like toothsome
syncopation, a sore write wristed into
flowing flowers folded between the pages
Emily Dickinson dashed after, pen by pen,
phrase by innocuous prose, popped onto
tired tongue traffic, a medium of
derange at such volumes, always miss
pelled, granted liabilities undischargeable
in bankruptcy or other uncivic proceedings.