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I was dreaming when I wrote this.
Forgive me if it makes no sense.
I was dreaming when I wrote this.
I was dreaming
of Prince.
Of dining
in a grade-school cafeteria
with Prince.
Of talking
with children all around
about bits of ephemera from Prince's career
with Prince.
And Prince was smiling.
And Prince was stiff.
And Prince was amiable.
And Prince was distant.
Today, I plan to parade a pair of purple pants around like a passionately pulsating peacock.
Yet, in my dream,
neither I, nor Prince
wore purple.
We wore regular Hanes T-shirts
and dark blue jeans.
And we ate tofu Frito pie.
And we sipped soy milk from tiny cartons.
And we had cinnamon applesauce for dessert.