within myself with a piece of parchment
without direction
without any thought about why or what or when or how but…

whether Michael Jordan would approve
if I stole his pumps to impress a platypus and induce…

amidst raindrops and cheetahs who feel subjugated
by angry chauvinistic zebras calling them sexy and ruining their appetite…

at the vision of animals put in spacesuits to circumnavigate the world
Oh wait, it’s been done; the kid in Africa would say Hi, but she’s dead

To the jays screaming in the tempest about forgotten packs of Lays
that angrily accumulate to choke that friendly killer whale kids called willy
Now willy’s dead too, perverted jokes and snickers all it’s left behind

of the being into one tiny iddy bitty minute speck of organism unnamed 
ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in crawled the succubus….
ashes to lashes….dust to lust….

Photograph: Raisul Nayon

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