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Construction Disconstruction pt. III: Claw Machine
Folder:
Extended Poetry Step right up, Step right up,
What might be your fancy?
Play the game and pick your prize right off the apple tree,
The claaw does all the work,
As you man the joyful joystick,
If onions make you cry,
You may try another fruit to feast upon,
Please don't be shy my precious swan,
For there's only air between start and end,
Only multiplying bricks, between past and future,
As your prizes pile up, heaping every voice you spit out,
Topping every question you think up,
For you just want another prize to tide you over,
Through the cold shoulder of a night,
Another, another, another...
The claw descends above your prize,
To be gentle to your needs,
To be your slave from start to end, past and future,
Yet another prize..glutton...
