before the impetus leaves
on the last train to Memphis
or Kalamazoo,
you better say way to go
and then go on your way
for the plot thickens

your urge to scratch that proverbial
itch is a bitch, but if that’s what
it takes, by all means, don’t fake
it, you’ve never had to before,
and why start now?

weird, whacky and wonderful,
nothing humdrum
about this plum, juicy-ripe
for the picking, the quiet riot now resounding
the pounding in your heart,
sutures ready for the final rapture

there, the honourable Don Quixote (still sitting
on the fence),
wonders about gorillas, windmills, and how to get
there from here.


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