Were I a stenographer,
I’d write down everything
rain says. A camper, I’d set up a tent
in the Rothko room at the Phillips.
A heroin addict, I’d live in the ‘90s.
Jesus, I’d change it
to The Last Brunch. Quiche Lorraine,
mimosas. I’d not take
a police psychologist’s job
for anything in the world, other than
the world. And why do we say,
Shot his brains out,
when there’s just the one? Were I a priest,
I’d only do straight weddings
and gay weddings together, couples lined up
down the aisle and around the block.
Let there be happiness and love
in bulk. Were I a star, I’d shine
binary. Were I smart,
I’d have been Jane Goodall
and kept my mouth shut. Why tell humans
apes are great when humans
are terrible at leaving apes
and well enough alone. But I am
dust, and as such,
I’ll eat an apple
and be happy to give my shovel
a treasure map and beg the two of them
to dig the world. Were I a pun, hon,
I wouldn’t be that one. Were I the Big Bang,
I’d whisper in the ears of flowers,
Take your time, this was all for you.
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