You See Me as Hot Dogs You’ve Never Thought to Make Before Now

You see me as
both messy and dangerous,
a pet cemetery,
various outdoor lounge spaces,
hot dogs you’ve never thought to make before now,

coming down from the sky in footsteps,
sick from eating the wrong sort of
rhapsodic wax,
sick from turning out burgers stuffed into bedding.

You think I was once
a superb Juggler of Worlds
when, in fact,
I was simply a
fire performer and juggler
with a background in gymnastics.

You imagine my past includes
its share of glittering jewel-like dog-women
small two-story doors,
non-traditional eyelids,
working, resting, and juicing vegetables,
hand-feeding a starving gator a grilled cheese sandwich,
calling for bold action on
kombucha-infused Sriracha empanadas.

I could admit to only this
I am an avid hunter and erotic sensual SWIMMER with
a selection of newly sourced Gothic victorian macabre
pigeon-Fabulous!! Absolutely stunning peacock skulls and oddities.

But I will go further and tell you ALL my secrets, little bird:
when it’s time to get down to business
the wood is either too dry or too wet,
the hot dog is either too mushy or too smokey,
I’ve either fallen and I can’t get up
or fallen and don’t want to get up.

This is the full extent of all my secrets.

But now that you know all of my secrets,
it is incumbent upon you
to accurately discern the true state of all possible conditions
and their remedies —
for this is what The One True Perfect Love is
or so I’ve read
or seen on television
either on "Frontline"
or "Supernatural."

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