Black matte Quaker
proclaims, “If I were god.”
I wonder what he’d do,
created him I did,
I wonder what he’d do
if he could create too.
I try to write, and
Black matte Quaker
proclaims, “If I were God,
quiet,
neatly cut
modernist poetry.”
Black matte Quaker is not God.
But he does have a point.
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