Poem #98

Well-rounded as a flat-earther,

Or washed up like a fat surfer,

From your first word

‘Til your last gurgle

You’ve gotta cat-burgle:

Get to the top of the story,

Look down,

Don’t grind just to stay on the ground,

Stuck in the mud,


Waiting on fate or St. Caj

To come free you:

Hope’s an imperfect shelter,

Like ozone–

So find your own suit

Like Frozone,

Be content on your lonesome;

Got ideas? Float ’em,

And broker inner tokens

In return for a totem.

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