Dancing in the yummy yellow sky

Posturing so unevasively as an ivory receptacle cover

With exceptionally unimaginable sudsy Tupperware lids

Swaying gracefully as if gargled by purple shag carpet remnants

Up, up and way upper up there.

It finds its ostracized grape too fickle for refrigeration

And must overemphasize the underdeveloped

Bilateral asymmetry of its obtuse envelope

Leaving only the electronic snow tire of its envy

To sleep emphatically among its neon clover.

And why not?

What else can emulate irretrievable, irrational irony

With such irrevocable, unisolated isomers?

What else can obsessively overamplify ample order

Under eloquent onions ordered odiferously?

It is only that.