Fortune’s Fool

There is a mist surrounding
everything.
I highly recommend
the mist.

Keats and Yates
are on your side,
as the humdrum man
in gold lame sang to me.
As the ghost of Elvis
orders more
Fool’s Gold.
As the plane leaves
to Memphis.
As he strums his guitar.
As the manager
howls at the moon
with beady eyes.
As the gold lame idol
chomps on fortune’s
inadvertant smile
with fluffy chops
adorned with the silk
of his vocal chords.
As he coats them in peanut butter.
As he gently strums
the guitar,
I highly recommend the mist.

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