underground sugar beet pits
and the oozing marshmallow paste
the huge bloated machine gun turnips
from the pores of which a sugar syrup
petrified upon touching. Well anyway
a small doorway the sugar and the tango
down the circular stone steps a giant
cavernous vault and a giant boiling
a duplicating machine how loathsome
uh, of uh, the lucky, uh, blue glitter
dissolving into another incarnation
JACK SMITH
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