you misunderstand the recipe for magic
has no measurements or hits
it is independent of binary patterns
pixel plotted screens or lists
you swipe the fruits from the stand,
chew up the bodies, spit out the pits
they shoot from your mouth
and shrivel up on the pavement
i won't approach it like this
beer in the bed, toxic fits
the overnight leap to justify the twitch
neglecting the soul to flip the instant switch
i know even paper cranes hit and miss
their fragile frames, dodging risk
they've filled the bowl, they've beat the wisk
but you are my healing kit
