Cubist smile on the silver witch
Who rings a bell and swallows fog
Easing through my gates
With new colors
She thought she’d found-
Unfit for man’s mouth
O’ tiny citric slapper someone,
O’ monitor of my controlosphere
O’ hacker of weathered bonds
Your foot is on the blade
Come down off the ledge
Or jump or don’t
You will you find solace then
Among cigarettes and pigeons
Chosen Answer:
You are so talented.