When I Was An Urbis Baby

I shudder to think

that I shuddered to think

that I think I shuddered

as I read the drivel

pooh-poohed from the trumpet lips

of hummingbird squares

and mumbling human pickles

and had them drool upon

the graceful boogie-woogie

I referred to as Haroldian prose

But now as I dance around

the gingham loveliness

of fictional liberation

in this fictional world

made from fictional fictions

I ask myself:

“Do we really ever…?

Can we really ever….?

Will we really never….?”