the white plastic scoop, snuck
beneath the foil lid, has apprised
itself of the situation, as the
avalanche of hazelnut chip
cascades into the pineapple yoghurt,
to the mid-afternoon occurred
a thought, was there anything different
he took another bite, then was surprised
how even the abstract and insentient
talk about what happened, he has projected
it like a Disney slide from Snow White and
the Seven Dwarves, and the red apple,
onto everything about, even the chairs
in conversation seem party to rumours,
it would be Surreal if the nut were Brazil,
but now everything is transfigured by
the event, it seems natural that a scoop
should murmur about losing all hope.
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