Who
is he?
Mustachioed
Broad
faced and fond of baseball
Asks
every question
Big
smoke, front teeth
Your car upon carved blocks and memory loss
Ropey pantsuits on the shaved chocolate floor boss
I see you're concerned now:
If
there aren't vicars
There can be vicar's daughters how?
But
he's not me
I
am the cinnamon cartoon wolf of nasal cave fame
Razor
claws raised, always just out of frame
My
nose fights for roses who fight for the sun
My
face fights to feel like it's the only one
My
nose bulbous and guido, red frying fat
A
lower case r as a bridge between that
Which
is possible and Xanax and animals
Islands,
channels, crackling insides
What
did I do?
I
stayed home and thought of tides
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