what happens to a soufflé yelled at?
does it implode unto itself into a singularity, or
does it melt like margarine at the
prospect that any leaf will get the chance to be green and
then red, but no leaf will get the chance to be red and then
tovarisch, i came here at the price of my humanity (a paltry puddle
of mashed dollars with your mug as president).
i am the red alien you saved from planet irth.
i am the beggar dog that drank all the commandments. you the smiling
bible of georgeformaned witches, cheshire-rictused sprites & 5th ave leprechauns.
listen to this sonnet, prietene – it is a handshake that way trivializes
& indeed you need it, you need this brotherly sweat
to be the krazy glue that saddles you on my lucidity. My flimsy
visa to when & where things have potential to
be nice. or ok. ish.
& i beg of you, from whatever is left of me,
to nod your sagacious crown in forgiveness
& do but think thyself as an overly-qualified don quixote single-handling
all the black giants that are me,
& do dance to celebrate your white dwarfism, knowing that this
known world will recognize thee as a
cold stable star, supported by the
exclusion principle repulsion between
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