As the great poet, Useff
Michelangelo de Conigliari
once said, I’m a Byronite to the
core, which doesn't mean
I resist the fins of opportunity to
wink at the brim, to shoot
like a skylark through the ether of
the 21st, so long as this
mortal coil remains coiled.
Useff entered therapy soon
thereafter but was
exonerated as the oldest living
one-celled on the
planet with extraordinary antennae
diming interior
bulbs behind limousine’s white fox
flowing past
coach window but, hell, Conigliari
knew something
most of us didn't—Jesus seat-belted
into Concord
on its way to Geneva to hand Useff
the Rapscallion
Peace Prize for ripping bandages off
the festering
wounds of the living.
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