May 4, 2009
Finicky brown figures appear
With indigo lips.
Here to play their record
Of cooties.
Humble if they may,
Bark through a thread
Of gaga nonsense.
Only a fool
Would unglue his gaze

From the moon.
A golden dude here to save us all,
Or is he just here
To hum the scratchy tune of doom?
This is hooligans conduct.
We can only hunker down
And wait as indigo lips
Laminate us.

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