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when you were a simple monkey

asked to deliver a single bud,

you brought a field of asian amber flush.

your unbridled devotion

thrust you to monkey god.

now, you divinely intervene

and bring me messages of him.

i find him in a soup kitchen

baking apple bread in a

t-shirt depicting two quarreling

monkeys captioned,

“double talk.”

he loves me and focuses on

monkees rerun marathons

late into the night preserving

our chaste, intimate love.

tonight’s virgin viewing is

in your honor

and cinematic eulogy,


humming your swanee river,

i shiver with relief that

my heart no longer attacks.

thank you,

for the anthem bouquets

of my youth.