Text of poem:
In kitchen’s habit, I rite a roll of what the poem could read. This roll to recipient as receipt to recipe. I have a slight lisp overcompensated for though tireless exercise. Disable bodywork to lifepractice. Who is iyoi practicing for? All right, troupe, let’s stitch a zoot and pitch our jawns to jawbone soup!
What assembles gravity in a grief lock?
Three anemic toys called trinkets, 11 dashes of dope, 14 splashes called sink drinks N95 wishes in soap. A beer can in a gutter, a mothball in her wink, a map free in a stutter, a toolkit to her think. Six months shrunk in by pain that five milligrams P.O. seek to close, 22 prospects to an utter, one iwei stitched in by clothes. Weiyo can remember an us blow to our blouse. Spike spears, never captured, return to sender. Do iwei tongue muscle in weiyo mouth?