Pale as can be
With stacks upon syntax
Whirring under
My receding hairline,

In front of this banjo-filled house
With a dog
Chasing a rabbit
Across a lawn,
One of the anointed,
The unproud of all that has been
Done to create this monster,

A creature of three states,
Pretending to be just one.

One, the collective
And both at the same time.

Three distinct instincts at once. Not one.

My kind says yes to all for one.
The one that’s me:

Chubby,
Chummy,
Chiming in,

All cunning.

Reason in my image:
Pale,
Pinkish,
Leaking oils,
Spoiling dinners, and
I’d bet my dollar

You love me to bits.

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