showing the world,
my ever so tiny world,
how rough around the
edges that I literally am,
he (can we call him Frank?)
is, by the way, and next up,
certainly got me wondering
who my Mayakovsky might
be (not to mention who
and whom our hero’s
was, both to said hero’s
was, both to said hero’s
mind’s eye and the world’s—
of then and of present day, say).
