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Finally Grateful for the Little Glass

a poem about won’t power

Photo by Angelo Abear on Unsplash

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Forty-three

You must call the up president.
You must make sure he’s sitting down
and in a safe place — with no sharp objects around.

I have something to say
face to space.

I believe I discovered
excess isn’t the only way.

Please hold your questions.
Please, help us find answers.

Probably something about time and age and entropy
(what isn’t?)

something about not wanting to hit your own body so brutally.

Either way,
the scientific community
needs to know

that we no longer have to smash and throw-
-away the normal-sized plates, bottles, bowls, bars, bongs, and beds.

But please warn the president—
normal-sized hats still won't fit
on my over-sized head.



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likes / wants / needs to write poetry apparently