now approach, epistolic
your novel quotidian
missive and tell me:
tell me what it's like
or unlike it today, or every day -
of all the complicated someones
who conjure me in it
i learn to love it all
your idiopathic cliches
who'll party with my own
on a table still approaching
and your apotheosing, occasionally,
automatically, me, i'll cut out pieces
and glue them to my forehead
and i'll think about them daily
and they'll run out when i write like,
if that's not magic?
so approach now,
oh you,
and post me your missive -
just tell me what it's like
what it's like,
and for you,
for a moment
i'll believe -
that's what it is