172. victor, tidings, tremendously pleased

the icebergs are melted, who told to tell them,
left from the freezer, completely, well, just
juice, i guess, puddles, a jellified substance
the eels covered coolly with glands from their stomachs

melanie’s tried from one down through nine,
the strings that the crab left (the authorized),
except for the ten, but bad it is, then,
there’s nothing to do but see where it led

bad is a buffet, the completed gusset,
the bloomers are breezed, a signal of coming,
created, a cheese, a bright balding breeze
takes the whole house, sets it down in the trees

the basement is safe, i guess why they say
in case of tornado, that is the place,
i mean if you have one to go underground, and
if a fridge doesn’t kill you, you’ll not end up pounded

in one piece or two, and melanie, phew!
protected by messes of eels dripping goo,
came out a bit wet, and sticky from it,
and saw the two thought sharks flopping and said

now is the winter, no, that’s not it, er,
somehow inside my cards got all switched up,
my thoughts may be messy, but what i’d intended
is bury the hatchet the better to get the

crab, he’s gone back to the pipes and he’s packed
creatures, all kinds, short, skinny, fat — 
for england, for queens, for dayton, for dreams,
and shoved the thought sharks back into her bean

demon rose out of the grate and he growled
(how can he do it? for flounders don’t sound),
and swiveled the lot, forty feelers and stalks,
forty fierce eyeballs raging revolve

the lemming, poor freddy, was left to his sled, he
called out its name, and then he was dead, the
story is stolen, but then so are most, and
demon on tube feet crawls out invoking

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