233. the mice, to be frank, i haven’t arranged

ryan onstott
1 min readApr 12, 2020


the mice, to be frank, i haven’t arranged,
and seem (AS OF NOW), a means of explaining,
can’t, i mean, drop them but (really) they’ve got no
further (the story) purpose (the plot to)

the sledges released, cordova is feeling
their last rotten dinner (stomach diseases),
the flow of the sea into netherlands leaked,
and drowned to a man the last of them heaving

a long howling cry, CORDOVANS FOR DRY,
but nobody listened, the race was out-wiped,
except those, of course, in spain who’d been stored
in jars (pickle) waiting to sprout in the morning

clams can survive in the ocean, so might
have had quite productive and happy, long lives,
but couldn’t the lack of alchemic stand,
and two months the flood (in) the plague had contracted

oak malone let once the clams had been dead
a good forty days (just in case, resurrected
a clam savior came to the alchemic claim),
and sledges had ordered up-pumping to drain

the weeds started growing with alchemic loaded,
and oak malone cornered the market in gold with —
send sledges to spain cordovans erase (to),
the rest with he brought back to belgium parade in

the world didn’t end, as toboggan sam said,
but worth is to wager, he wasn’t (his head)
in any position (on planks as they split him)
seriously, say, correctly predict it