a knee lock truck fob, held in plizace by a wheel
turned inside by a twittering madman
horse and buggy costume for the first and last trial.

there was a null brown sock, a peeled rat bulb, a cryogenically dozed neckerchief. Chief! Come back here, you've left your britches! Chief! Come back here you've left your flute. Chief! Come back here and claim your birthright: a new titanium replacement, inside and out, totally deluxe like a rising sun viewed from a bumper car navigating round and round within a ring of Saturn.
Inside a wheel, brown and skinless -- too mad to go on, too when he started to jitterbug at the small brown bike show.

glitter, you dozer -- you snooze, you're acrostic.