He reads futures by the mind in palm
A thing highly projecting before him
Excuse sir, your mind is open,he says
In buffet breakfast, chomping words.
You going foreign, says he to reading
Ultraviolet rays traces of warm paper
In pocket that is open for front review.
It is the war of words, this Mars thing.
Palms go foreign egged on by a mind,
A thing you leave open in your pants.

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