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Something, Blah, Todd. Carrots.

Mine is the mouth of Todd, and the failure of Todd

I am a plural Todd, and I am a single rotting head, scattered in pieces on a country road.

My vigor, once youthful and in colorImage
Is now a monochrome paper mache,
It rolls only if I force it
and it warns me repeatedly about the consequences I’d face
were I to deny my Toddness

But I am only the work of a dirty hand
come slowly to pull from the soil
a Todd carrot,
and wash it with the urine of Todd
Cake it with the shit of Todd
and demand that Todd be what the carrot is,
and the carrot be what Todd is

Which is a factory laborer
whose head must be carried by wheelbarrow
to work in the morning,
home in the evening

 

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