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Dear Z,
Giving a gift is the basis for language,
the heart's hip beat: Arrive \ \ Survive -
Zygote, I need not tell you. There's nothing
like the act of steering molten thought
through scrawled throat-tones as a means
to graft a whole new earth to things-
even with the eon's known supposing
over ends to all our days. Listen.
Planet X News had scheduled the Zed
of this world for just about now.
American Zee, still,
there you are,
lope-stroke of Zorro.
That sibilant mid-Mozart,
divisible mote
on time's moonlit tambourine.
Therefore, I need not tell you:
The letter Z has not always meant tail
of the alphabet-that moody wind instrument.
That allograph beauty, whose fevering ether
croons atop naked frailty's tines.
Turns out the ampersand,
that in itself and,
is what used to
spell the ABCs end: & thus
you should home in on how it is, yes,
such a pisser that profit is gift from the poor
to the rich. And so in the zombie apocalypse
the Zumwalt'class destroyer is what comes
to mind as my weapon of choice-
which ship I would use to take...