That a deluge of offhanded words can strike me
Struck me and candy-apple’d propaganda on the machine machine in the living room
Shouting the man’s name appalled me, in short, in sum, without doubt
But I am shot by said words and so I must bleed, it is my duty, it is my love and life to paint the floor red
Be sure to splatter the dishes where we eat so that our cherry tart dinner reeks of authenticity
Better not to stave the flow or where will our creativity go?