Suppose we crown our symphony,
Hecate’s Symphony—‘On the
Genuine In Art’—with some
Old growth sour apples, grandma
Style. Suppose we pronounce the day dead
At dawn, kaput, finis, finished.
Rain all day, my friends, a wash out.
Suppose we market some saliva soap,
—Eh?—sell it as ‘The French Kiss’,
Salubrious Soft Skin—and then,
Suppose we issue a solemn nihil obstat:
Fat Fannies Permitted on Fair Grounds—
Only. That should keep the church ladies
Satisfied. And then suppose we spark
A tryst between you and me—
Not for Eros this time, and not for love
Of God—or for the love of Pete—
For Christ sakes—in fact it’s not
For anything, simple or solemn.
Simply put and solemnly said,
Suppose we propose a nihil obstat
Of and for everything… everything
Under the big top, that is. Thus:
“What is death in the circus?
That depends on if it is spring.
Then, if elephants are there,
mon pere, we are not completely lost.”
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