& the lord said

let there be limeade

& yesterday died

when midnight sighed

& the traffic lights

turned sky blue

& a furrow was ploughed

on your fertile brow

& the romans scratched

their big noses

& the london eye blinked

in the wink of an i

& the morning wore

a green shellsuit

& the afternoon clashed

with its crimson skin

& the moral

is tossed in translation

& the rub

is a cat on a beanpole

& forever is

a spare pair of oxford shoes

& the internet

is not your long lost cousin


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