My weird Madlibs Poem

soft television’s soft television

haltingly i have never run, heavily beyond
any candle, your house have their behemoth :
in your most painful mouse pad are things which erase me,
or which i cannot sit because they are too upstairs

your light look often will unwork me
though i have read myself as mascara,
you cry always eyeliner by eyeliner myself as USB stick stress
(hyperventilateing intentionally, here) her pudgy folder

or if your wardrobe be to expose me, i and
my weights will jump very there, completely,
as when the night of this candle walk
the pencil even everywhere hoping;

nothing which we are to skip in this computer eat
the watch of your prudish ring: whose bracelet
fart me with the cords of its wall,
shower ing table and car with each shaveing

(i do not swim what it is about you that jog
and write; only something in me drive
the cat of your house is athletic than all USB stick)
street, not even the hat, has such colourful bag

– Erica & e.e. cummings

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