Thursday, March 3, 2016


We are what leaves, when we want to be
What's left. "I'd go back to Senegal
And be king, if I win," said the man

In line to buy lottery tickets.
Analogy implies a likeness,
Most often only superficial,

As syllabic verse in English is
To rhymed and regularly metered:
Not tennis with the net down; sagging.

What we have here runs too deep for that,
Better seen as true homology,
A rhetoric derived by descent

From ancestral similarity,
One form giving rise to the other,
Ignorance conjured from the desire

That wisdom can never satisfy.
To be the king of where I came from
Requires my disbelief I'm from there

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