For reasons that may or may not become clear all the participants in this poem have been named Bill. This, like all things, both clarifies and conceals. After wasting enough time on language one begins to grow hungry, as if giving birth to a train on an unhappy occasion. First get yourself some fireworks and a bonfire-- something approaching a calamity, but without all the trappings of emotion-- and make sure it is big enough to reach all the places you have concealed...
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