maybe you've been holding a number
and i just called it, step forward,
blush graciously, pick up a feathered pen.
just a few questions, i've lost my mind.
first, holy shit what did i do?
i serve myself up like $2 breakfast
and am carved as if i were
thanksgiving dinner, stuffing and all.
second, whose responsibility
is it to keep the peace?
i'm doing my bit, chomping down
on the bit, pulling the plow in completely
straight and conventional rows.
not quite full-grown wild,
though give it time,
soon i'll be marketing your eyelashes
as commodities of my fantasy land.
do not act surprised, it's a given.
the form's almost black with ink,
only one question left, and thank you
for bearing through this,
i know that the rough times has hit us all,
but third, how cold is it, exactly?
i forgot to bring a sweater
but something tells me i'll make it through.
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