hollie (spam poem w/ cut-up)

trainer flips out of our world,
trainer flips young ones only,
as the 1948 edition
bronzed the sky with mind,
only a whiter absence
to my mind, trainer flips
over young alligators
from there - toward
a higher level... to sound
and beaufort sea with visors,
their brave recreational vehicles:
shortcake, waffles, berries and
cream balmy on his back
young alligators on their backs,
yes.... you'd want that said,
"now it's my turn to sing!"
beaufort sea, writhing their
stunted bronze this perfection,
this absence and I, it's
late february, and the
preface so balmy.