01 April 2010

story

a story you call a poem where there are gods
in one hand, but nothing in the other.

we clap a lot to encourage, look at these
apes, slapping their right to left. how smart

are we to notice. my aunt knows our president
is a muslim because it matters to her. she's scared.

but this poem isn't about my scared aunt.
it's about numerous gods who tell us things in our sleep.

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