if when standing on the crust of the bread your mother used to bake you can see as far as the four corners of the sky and an emerald beetle falls from your mouth whenever you wipe your nose

and your prehensile tongue demands that you loosen your tie and when you open your collar the day begins

then on this day

the petrified forests abandoned under the stars will no longer attract the resilient gyroscope and the earth will grow wings like a cast-iron threshing machine and the first kisses of love will take fright and hide in a well

and then

in a day or two or maybe a year or more a stained-glass packing case will rise from the well and throwing handsful of salt to the waiting crowd will fall to the ground and split to reveal a girl with seventeen eyes and a smile like a pearl-handled gun

and the girl will fondle the cellophane limbs of the world and the voices of reason will cease to solicit the poor


all this I have seen and all this will come to be

when the dolls’ tea-party reaches the nearest star

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