A Notebook – Since 2007
They do not want for something to say
They run around and play all day
Syllabicating back and forth
No one asks what another is worth
At night they climb trees to sleep
They dream of mouths of lips and teeth
And breath of a land where speech
Is silly and fluid and free
Having no bowels they don’t see
The lithe ape thinking in a tree
Who would trap them in a man
And call himself can
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The Coming of the Toads 