The Galaxy Launches Her Miracle

Now and then,

my importance stifles the happiness that every manic man desires for his perfect little mannequins, as he closes up shop and leaves them in his closet,

and steals away the contentedness of an old fellow after a long day of feeding the fishes with leftovers from kitchen dishes now forgotten, along with his medicine and his glasses and his wife,

or consoles crude businessmen, tall as their city towers, sedating them
with dreams of dollar signs and clothing brands and pretty women fresh from shiny new assembly lines,

and terrifies the hearts of men who write with pens of lies and ostracize the true artists of our time; Sia, Justin, Drake,

or makes the angels fall from heaven like kamikaze flies watching the ground grow closer with their compound eyes wide with horror,

and bestows the lovechild of acceptance and toleration upon nations that equate police retaliation with holding handguns to young men’s bleeding heads,

or causes the heavenly hipster prophets to weep like lost lovers at the profits of the modern poet,

and finally, taking the government’s virginity with communist probes, restricts our jazz to a caged cat in a frilled skirt being forced to dance the Karlton at the annual American Cyberclub.

But no worries, all is swell, never better, great day, nice weather, cute shoes, curled hair, stop asking me questions or I’ll bite your lips off.

My dear fellow, I must say, good day bad day happy day go away.