"And turkey carcass, never flitting, still is ziplocked, still is sitting
On the frigid shelf a freezing just above my ice makor;
And his cold bones has the seeming of a future meant for steaming.
Hints of hot broth o'er him streaming beckons soup in De-cembor;
And my soul from out that vision that slumbers on the kitchen floor;
Shall be lifted—nevermore."
(with apologies to Mr. Poe)
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