Part of the Parcel

I don’t want to turn anything back.

Immersed in the rapture of rhetoric.

Don’t burden me! I’m ready to drop.

As a cat sits under the deckchair.

You’ve got to look round.

A sentence without object.

I’m mortal [he trowelled in soil].

Once he’s broken down. Lips lick [amino acid].

Could I be part of a protein?

The molecular biologist expanded.

What’s a metaphor?

We split into four social classes.

Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen.

We were known as the cohns.

Sound’s like another zionist plot to me.

I mean, why should they be sacrosanct.

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