Pineapple Day at the Warehouse of Platonic Forms

The night guard at the warehouse of Platonic forms dresses more wounded birds
in corduroy than Nature. But if we go back in time no one will exist there.
I am related to wolves so I can relate to being without an ideal form. That
is why we must leave now. In the warehouse of Platonic forms mended wings
are nursed back into the shapes of eggs by the Good, the Beautiful and the
Wolf. But if we go to the warehouse of Platonic forms no one will shine
there. The forms could in fact be no forms at all if the birds hatched only
meager tautologies. As we approach the warehouse of PF's we are increasingly
aware of our lack of conditions; I sprout nodes; lose ordinary teeth; fall
there to the bottom of the laundry basket. Snuffed out by the density of
ideal corduroy.