Once upon a time,
as stories often begin,
there lived the greatest poem in the world.
It is not this one.
This tale begins in a little town called Internet,
where a recovering makeup addict
can put on a clown face without inhibition.
It’s a magical village where stuff
like placing a cell phone in a microwave
to exorcise the demons inside
goes down all the time.
It’s where the supernatural rubs elbows
with the YouTube superstardom,
and of course porn.
This gives rise to unnatural fantasies like
a French maid who eats fairy dust
or a busty vampire with a camera
who kicks unsuspecting victims in the nuts
or a Pinocchio doll who’s forced to lie
in the most awkward of tantra positions.
But I digress, for in this world of fetishes
and way-too-intimate confessions
There are also the best of people,
who put on harlequin faces
so they can say the truth.
There are mothers who share their labors
with the closest of strangers.
There are birds that make entertainment
an extreme sport by creating
poetry in as few characters as possible.
There are dogs who can apparently
create their own caninespace or facebone
and spend a day’s biscuit wages
on the pet version of eBay.
Most importantly, in the hamlet of cyberspace
there live amazing pyromaniacs
who give without bragging about it
(a wise jester once mentioned this
through wisdom hidden in a phallic balloon animal)