And Be Was!

And Be Was!

And Be Was!

“And, and be was.”

(A postman delivered in vague, fortnightly with exceptions foretold.)

O manifest manifesto,* infested as you understand yourself to be, and infested in the least sense of arrival. Arrived at last in a barber’s frothy cup, a festival of all small particles and told in the tremulous contralto of tomorrow’s garrulous, fifthy (not filthy) plus and minus. Their combined might, harvesting the scissored inches, pops the big guy hard to the nucleus, to a Punch and Judy gravity (apologies are in order here, straight through from three to five). And gravity depends on our words, not yours or theirs or mine. Yes, I have seen them, seen them in the alley under the ragweed’s tattered, brown habiliments and in the very gutter overhead (where rainwater hangs its hat among the maple pods and ashes). Theirs is the lump of gravy in your sockdrawer, the greasy fifth of applejack tucked in a cubbyhole behind the copier on the second floor. Where Yes meets Shall We Have Cheese is the alpha of sharp cheddar and its uncontestable, infinite demise (O mega Omega!). So, run from us you porky cakes and cereals. Run, damn is you, run with those awkward fatty dimples chasing each other down your one Oscar Wilde leg. The Yes will catch you blood swelled or wet, (depending on your gendarme) and dairy’s ominous products understand which of your buttons weren’t really buttons to begin with.

“O” Lo!
And Lo! A voice, saying let there be, and be was. See B! And it was, as it always will be, B (except after C).

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