I’m busy working
on a new word for “love.”
Slomonétity? Bööpaglurple? There’s
always
an outside shot at a chance of
inventing
a better
one
of any whatever. But
how do you condense
feeling as if peaceful
pachyderms guarantee to giggle
at your every forthcoming
joke whilst they juggle
bubbles, and Jupiter (supreme being
and
planet), and three heads
of green leaf
lettuce, and Meryl Streep, and forever
and ever, but darkness, and maybe, and something, and then—?
How do you condense love
without expanding it first?
My new word for love is actually
ninety-six words,
and now it’s five more,
and now.
