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Sunday, April 15, 2012
Ode to Lord Monochromicorn

Oh, lord of towering blackness, you stomp
and scratch a Morse Code greeting I don’t un-
derstand as I only speak an absence
of color, shades of grey. We would have been
friends in high school. You, too, would say Faith is
the Cure’s best album—your hooves tapping out
your argument, slowly, your mane back-combed
into a Robert Smith fright-hawk. Are you
old now, like me? Or are you as ageless
and cartoon-smooth as on T.V., with Prince Gumball,
Fiona, and Cake? I see your grownup,
stern side—all servitude and business—
but there must be another side where you’re
Lord Monochromiporn with a cat harem.