Tip Twice Tax Trip

They're like believe me alone
like beans without rice   I like rice
& its post-modern pre-ulcerative
insistence        Impossible expansion
The saltine spirit that hugs you
from inside  That's why I call you
angel without warning     the artist
I have dinner with & every night
flip over the check to see if you aren't
imaginary      How can you be real
& do the impossible like they were dishes

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