Imp In The Ganglion

I turn to my figure in the funhouse mirror ,/past a line of shooters taking aim /at battered blue ducks across /the reach of a manmade creek./The whorl of my thumbprint brings me here:/ it says abracadabra, it says open sesame./ It’s said they found Karate belts in all shades and colors, /in the contours of an orange crate /while I wrapped wire in Denver. /Rules soon dissolve in those running streams,/after war whoops sounded/when this treasure was discovered./Hypnotized weeks later,/ by a kryptonite click at 2 am,/ I got cues and pointers /from a savage answer displayed. /A reflection on a banner, in unknown letters;-You can’t have everything./I found a beast, a creature to beat,/ in the way there’s an end and a beginning /there’s a cradle, a papoose crying.

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