mmcmlxiii

it’s not that i’m atheist on porpoise
(i can’t help that i was born this way)

this morning i attempted
to log in to twigger.com,

but somehow i caught my-
self before it was able to

be revealed. will the real
twigger.com please stand

up (and here, i want to
add “i am groot” mainly

because i am not, but also
because television). tv has

entered my life once again.
it reminds me of all of the

beautiful ugly things to
which i am attracted.

but i did not need the
boob tube to remind

me of such things. i’m
a hypocrite (she’s a hypo-

crite, he’s a hypocrite,
they’re all hypocrites;

wouldn’t you like to
be a hypocrite, too?!). do

you think sammy davis jr
ever ate an m&m. here’s

to hoping that the candy man
did not. but he passed into

the great beyond before
the political correctness

that was half of post-
modernism ate the

peanut butter sandwich of
homogeneity and spawned

the demon with the seven
heads and the three sixes

(go ahead, you can hunker
down on that with chagrin).

no, it was well before that.
well, was it before that?

was it, indeed, well after
his toe-tapping demise that

came the moment when
somebody dropped their 

chocolate into somebody
else’s peanut butter.

it was the wondrous white
chocolate of santiago and

the butter was actually made
in beirut from hazel toes.

not my grandmother ha-
zel’s toes, which were

frostbitten on martin luther
king junior’s birth-

day, a decade before it
was a federal holiday.

quick, which year did
i just make up like i

was wearing fish-
net dreams and

fantasy fishhooks
(and don’t think

too fast lest lester
the ventriloquist’s

major dummy rises
from his rimshot grave)?