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For good measure

Kate Schapira

It’s win-win thrown into the street by the cupful oil up ego’s unsightly grim games. Good gain to bad riddance. Rubbish grins in the ring, in the drain. Throwing after, bad loose lips, lotus-eater, sit while the sitting’s in warm water.

Statements about the state of the union between heaven and earth caught in the first asteroidal press. Level the glass the bubble barometer public opinion airgun. Case of the vapors, hysterical hemorrhoid, horror to rage, exchange.

The story of the wife put tar in the cup to cling to or how’ll they know what they have worth stealing? Good name after bad knowing. Shake and peer into the scoop: measure, are you there, eating with pixels still sticking to the sides?

The news we get’s the news we make, the one who says the center’s where I say it is but doesn’t say where it is. Trash-talk falls from the air, fair, lame or too late. Newfangled roundhouse crammed with drunken sailors pining for you. Kept in check they watch the eject button click and click.

Complaints that coverage is altered come home. Not that no news is new, true, good, known, brand-bright, but liking’s involved, an edifice with backing that continues. Building materials shrink-wrap for transport; styrafoam snow appears where before; vapid spam follows rejection. What’s backed gives way. What’s insusceptible of proof waxes. Measure, come back.

Kate Schapira

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