The Survey

Rent adverse crooked cold as dairied catacombs
as hay glass strands or wired drifting afternoon
ablush. It's like my architecture professor
used to say, "Whatever else, the subways have
provided a successful habitat for countless rats,"
privy as he was on his only visit to a playful
squeaking mating ritual he found regular
occasion to recollect. Anyhow, birds were splashing
around in their baths, lake-colored amulets were
slipping behind armoires, gentle perfumes from adjoining
fields were accidentally pressed into concrete slabs.
All told, the fanciful was making a fantastic showing.
I named my first baby silver and my second baby gold
and this baby I'm going to name Impractical Timepiece
and not care and love it anyway forever. I was one
of a million people who took part in an online survey,
and those bastards, they never emailed me back.

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