I envy him for his head,
Dormant brick of a thing
No intention to invite Tuesday in,
All, “Wipe your feet please.”
Or to see Monday out
He could run and hide in a washateria
All the way to Tofty
With his procession of kind, anatomically-correct skeletons to follow
If he really wanted
But he sleeps
With his head all swaddled
In vantablackness
Like a concrete baby that I sorely envy
Because it’s my favorite color
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