Grant effervescent praise
to the wormhole-riding quadrant jockey,
content to pirate whatever feels like
a worthwhile media experience

before stalking two lovebirds
on a picnic in Central Park,
those lovey dovey types
who eskimo kiss sans embarrassment
while the sky blushes
and burns its way into the night.


Author: Aidan Badinger I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

One thought on “XXXVII”

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