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As the steady state of molasses is a lie
and the speed at which we spin to stand
so the shortest distance btn
2 of yr blue-prints pinned inside a red balloon
inflating rimwards with my guestimates -

show me a plank of fine pirana pine
planned to nanometric perfection
and I'll show you a good time
showered with a million shavings
and a tooth-pick made for slipping in hair cracks.

So play me the black notes, mister,
you're missing all the best beats with your bones
of base abstraction, straight-jacketed out everything
but your mean meanings and bland beauty -

elegance may be the smooshest, cashmered, routed joints
but sorry, shop closed, signs out, no tickets here.
As good as enough, the 80% must ship it,
plug'n'play to a waltz by an almost-there quartet -
a fishbowl organ, a bread-bin fiddle and a washboard rythmn-ace.