Oh temple un-slurred, unnamed
to be priced,
unbecoming price reader
I’ll be homeless at the bar
code reader,
macho up to the confetti
man for syllables which,
showing deference
I’ll forget how to say
then spend the rest of the night
putting the ham and eggs back
on my grandfather’s jokes:
“I’ve only had tea Martoonies Ocifer..”
such time as made the wooden years
a mantle mount above us all
the Midwestern fireplaces forged out their
indifferences from uncertainty
and named her Art.
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