It was an honor to work with him/ her
and later to be guest on a show
always worth watching. The gods all know
that in creation’s time-distilled longueur,
all ticking days and seconds’ dullard whir,
embodied broken dyads weep and grow
weary: to them, time’s rapid pass is slow,
and every madame longs to be monsieur
as much as he to she and they to we
as was in ancient times, a monad made
but yearned apart and now all cunts and cocks,
wanting for a former oneness that will free
the wandering spirit—sad, afraid
to be itself, each day and night, on Fox.