The King Koopa Dance.

Here is "No Wonder Big Bird Looks so Damn Healthy," my ridiculous translation of Emily Dickinson's "Hope is the Thing With Feathers."

"Hope is fervent Aristotle;
The conclave of the cavity--
The voice of the voiceless.
Heavenly continuum,
pour nectar in my ears!
The King Koopa dance--
Fever of the heart--
The stinging nautical din;
They martyred Devin Brown."

Epiphany A.

I will not let kamikazee missions,
or vigilante's pidgeons,
excite my ability to transcend into a ghastly reflection of past-being,
where absence of light meets four walls and births a child of ill-mannered manifestation.

Before I congest myself in doubt and self-pity,
I will drive with the windows down and shoot shrapnels of flippancy at everything in sight.

Where I was:
cruising the wrong direction down a one-way lane, wondering,
"Why can't anyone trust me?"
as others swerved out of my path.