Head-spinners all
couldn't punch their way out of
a paper bag.
Ear-ringers calling
on piggy-back dialup accounts.
I'm thankful for the
laminated aisles of consumption.
Checkstand drop-outs
waving glossy deviations.
Meantime, I'll be soaring
over the walls of the asylum
in my red balloon.
The world below melting
into verdant hues of
folded parchment.
Call NORAD-
I am an UFO.
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