for a man who walks around my typewriter very often

I’d piss on the moon and light a cigarette
I’d call myself around the block and when I came to answer I’d punch myself
in the face
if I were Celine and if I   were alive

Celine you magnificent dog
Celine I’ll bet you beat your mother and if you had a brother you beat him
too
Celine you flogged yourself Celine you drank water and walked in the sun

if I were France I’d call myself Celine

Celine you wrote with words that
more than bit
more than chewed and spit out
more than laughed
laughed more than laughter

I’m not France
but if I were France
I’d call myself
Celine.

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