from his high perch and glare at us
and then burst into operatic song
we felt we had been floated back
to some childhood cartoon drawing
we had made in the third grade
here I use the we of all my selves
who if called up would fill this
sentence with wild guffaws
but all must be observed as long
as Sappho endures the mockery
of old age and love gone beyond
with only fragmentary applause
and praise the mockingbird a few
feathers between shit and song
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