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A Many Splintered
Thing
These days, even your stamp choice
can be a matter of life or death.
Take a deep breath & align the spine
while archiving arch rivals:
remember me dot oh are gee. Weekend
worriers try to forget office politics' sissy
fuss & so much luggage: we've loosened our ties
& I've got Posh Spice in my pocket,
my translation engine running humming a mountain size
ocean song. Block on
locked on--draft capture my daily batch slip
& meet me in St. Louis,
Lois. Another season come & gone & still
I see no larger logic, no matter how long I ponder
the paradox of outgrowing Fox for the W.B.
A certain sameness that I'm sick of--
well, that shirt doesn't not go w/those pants.
These waits & measures just the latest litmus test
of pliable alliances, profit and loss: if I didn't have
disappointment, I wouldn't have any anointment.
Hate's a strong word--let's just say I find it all
totally repugnant. One hundred years of lumbar puncture
& we still can't return the departmental tape gun.
Disks slip & tectonics shift this year's intemperance--
these teetorum stopgap measures won't hold
a block longer. In the end, it'll be remembered
as the summer I won all those free diet cokes.
Anger as an elegy:
phenylketonurics reveal codes after the lovin'
c/o moons over my hammy. & here for years
I'd thought that song said, "I don't want
the world, I just want yr hat."
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