I will put in my box a rumble from a raging river,
The lightning strike of a colossal storm slithering from the sky.
I will put in the box a finger touching and an odd obedient oesophagus,
the tip of a nose touching the mane of a champion horse in the South East,
the touch of a slimy bloody eye of a basilisk.
I will put in my box the 100th month and ten thousandth day,
a super speedy snail and a super slow flash.
My box is forged from dynamite, dark matter and antimatter,
with the WWE olden champion’s belt on the lid
and toxic ooze in the hinges.
Its hinges are made of nuclear glue.
I shall swim in my box in the Mediterranean ocean a
nd then wash up on a Caribbean beach and watch the stars.