Song of the SilverbackAnna Maria Hong
Once was king of all that tinkles, all that springs from silver shy. Silver ball, silver hovel. Silver ting on silver cone. Grunt through silver hunt and forest. Forest good: hunted twice. Now me polish with silver heave silver pencils, picking nougat of silver-eye. Leaves crackle— make bells whisper. Silver crispies on me silver thigh. Once was white, white and conic, now marooned by smiley hi. No regrets. Me, economist. Land of scrape and lucky jaw: still be sliver, still be live.
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