haunt polka halls, feast cassava,
trail second lines, munch moon cakes.
this is tourism, not populism,
& my invite is no amulet.
o poets, what is your thing
tasseled hour readings clap
verdant vowels pon verdant steel,
structures aflutter, I'm pretty sure.
more than travels, I want postcards
the kind with the pictures
with the words
saying 'SEX SEX DICKS'
'THIS IS A POEM ABOUT DICKS'
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