Crooked Grin

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I don’t know why

Aristotle threw the poets

Out of the Symposium

 

I’ve never been good w/philanthropy

 

But this I know:

There will be time for all that later

Or their won’t

 

I mean what does it matter

If they level the playing field

But move the goalposts?

 

A horse

Of a different color

Can open all the cans of corn

It wants but if it can’t hit the breaking ball

Then it’s the glue factory for sure

 

So abide your idols

They were once babies, too,

Noses and nether regions

In need of wiping as much

As the next baby

 

But pity their crooked grins

The world ain’t as flat

As it once was or

As they fear it is—-

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