Turkey

Turkey,
Never mind the cool wig
Giving your audience the wrong number
Cause I recognize the phenomena
Of your writing despite gravity
Cleansing your palate from backtracked minutes
Of turkey lingo that your child hates to talk about
In Spanish which you
Say can never light you up
At religious ceremonies
With a candle stick of unfriendly words
That blow mind fire
From your vegetarian fire teacher
Who proclaims you happy
To be a free wig
To put something in your hair
To cut these causes out
For three pennies alluding
To knowing what you know
Buying into the turkey in your child’s room
Who is alive,
But truly in danger
Because the gravity of writing while holding minutes
In a white torch,
Singing off key melodies
Of “I’m a lady, the lady is my turkey”
Takes one bow, gives one kiss, or simply toasts
Each of those lingos gravely
Laying in horizontal mazes
Next to your Spanish pillow
That you squeeze fondly every single night
While telling me that you may light me up
With this candle stick representing the godly need
To blow fire of happiness
To be free of pushing something grave
Out for three turkeys
That eulogize your writing while a torch of a lady
Puts your pillow night light
Up this stick
Of fire that’s free falling
Over a crescent moon that drips
Tear drops of gravity in chaos.