that my rivals in emotion were responsible
for my own errors in judgment,
thus the story about the sad sandwich.
The long, thin banderoles flapped in the breeze
as the ships docked in the harbor,
and the goodbye gusts rushed down the mountain,
burying the show with the snow leopard legend,
shaking the stained glass windows.
The old movie theater’s lobby reflected Jugendstil,
with bold curves and detailed flowers adorning the wallpaper;
I wrap up by exclaiming that buckaroo and cockroach
are the results of Hobson-Jobson, coming from Spanish vaquero and cucaracha.
No sunlight can ever penetrate the hadal trenches
of my ever-expanding black hole soul,
but no matter how bad life gets
I am gonna smile a little jokey joke.