I’m lucky. Really, guys, I’m lucky!
Because Tony is exceptional. Artist. Wastrel. A quantum of potential. Aha!
A fucking ideal. I can’t even believe that he’s real! Hey, Tony! Are you real?
Thank you, Tony… and let us go to the next collaboration? Please, please!
Lanterns shine too bright
and water drops too loud.
I’m a lonely knight
standing opposite the crowd.
Lances jut too pointy
at queens too busy quilting.
Quintains feel too jaunty
for serious windmill tilting.
The firmament gets bleak.
Clouds weave the decoy node.
Pinnacled rooks beak
apples on the patchwork road.
Full import and all portent,
or is this mere priestly babble?
Preaching safe from beside the war tent,
in unholy war they dabble.
A phthisical bishop spits blood
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