Janine Pommy-Vega is throwing verses at me right now, but I'm too busy recalculating Bob Kaufman's prosody into a six-piece chicken meal for my inner child, whose Talmud is being eroded by interplanetary Celts. "Get down, man, like," I say, "like, dig me, from the fulcrum of the inside out!"" And so on and so forth until midnight, when the vulture picks the decade clean.
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