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My Felisberto

Written by: James Tate | Biography
 My felisberto is handsomer than your mergotroid,
although, admittedly, your mergotroid may be the wiser of the two.
Whereas your mergotroid never winces or quails, my felisberto is a titan of inconsistencies.
For a night of wit and danger and temptation my felisberto would be the obvious choice.
However, at dawn or dusk when serenity is desired your mergotroid cannot be ignored.
Merely to sit near it in the garden and watch the fabrications of the world swirl by, the deep-sea's bathymetry wash your eyes, not to mention the little fawns of the forest and their flip-floppy gymnastics, ah, for this and so much more your mergotroid is infinitely preferable.
But there is a place for darkness and obscurity without which life can sometimes seem too much, too frivolous and too profound simultaneously, and that is when my felisberto is needed, is longed for and loved, and then the sun can rise again.
The bee and the hummingbird drink of the world, and your mergotroid elaborates the silent concert that is always and always about to begin.



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