I Can Ozymandias

I camped with a gypsy near the city of Napolitos.
He said: Seek the top of the shadowy staircase
A statue there is wrought in the likeness of ponderous burritos
Close by hangs an iron gate, which leads to a poet’s chamber
Reeking of indulgence, tamales, and the perfume of pathos
The door carved in gaudy silhouettes; walls awash in hues of insanity
A tiled veranda pours a pathway; it is scuffed with footprints and scorn
A figure hunches atop a toadstool, he amuses with a delightful ambiguity
His melody saturates a gin-addled city; his plans have a wispy veneer.
A proclamation reads: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
Scribed by that nebulous negotiator, the North side balladeer.

Xmas

Xmas is a difficult time for me.
See, when I was in third grade, Santa Claus visited my classroom. He shuffled through the doorway jingling bells and ho ho ho-ing. Then the teacher led Santa to a big chair in the middle of the room where he sat down. Santa told us Christmas stories and passed out candy canes. But there was this boy in my class named Marvin, and Marvin shouted to Santa, “Hey, you smell funny!” Santa turned and stared at Marvin for a few seconds. Then Santa stood up and asked Marvin to come with him. They both walked from the room and into the hallway. A few minutes later, we looked outside through the classroom window and saw Santa walking across the playground with Marvin. We watched as Santa led Marvin behind a school building on the other side of the playground.

We never saw Marvin again.

Goldfish Plant

So, this woman I work with says to me, Is that a goldfish plant?"
And I said, "Yes, it is."
She then said mournfully, “Oh, my goldfish plant died—it just shriveled up and died.”
I said, “oh, that’s too bad . . . Did you flush it down the toilet?”

New Stuff

You are part pumpkin spice with

a splash of post-modern snowfallism

a dash of cayenne fever blossom

and a pinch of weepingwillowwisp