lo, city dweller.

he was a large man.
larger than any man i had ever seen.
i counted the layers of his chin,
but i couldnt remember which ones i had already counted.
his forehead was held up by a custom-made hat,
with a logo. a tick.
the company had four people weaving cotton for four days.
he was a large man.
his hands,
when they emerged
from some or other fold they were trapped in,
for who knows how many days,
reminded me of my childhood,
i stuck one orange on each finger.
the juice ran down my palm and over my wrist.
his fingers were round.
the sweat ran down his palms.
his wrists. or the folds that made up his wrist.
he was a large man.
a constellation,
of folds and creases,
of custom made clothes.
he was placed before the crowd,
and they listened.
not like a congregation listens to a preacher,
but like eagle chicks,
waiting for their mother to drop a piece of mutilated mouse
they listened to him.
they hungered.
he was a large man.
he wore a large suit.
it took four people four days.
he regurgitated wisdom.
7 steps to financial freedom.
5 steps to a million dollars.
3 steps to enlightenment.
1 step to something or other.
always prime numbers.
he was a large man,
and there were large men listening.
but not as large.
not nearly.
that is why he was up there,
and they were down here.
he regurgitated,
they ate.
sweat poured out of him,
and personal assistants rehydrated him.
i tried to count the folds,
but they engulfed me and darkness surrounded me.
i could not see anything
i could not feel anything
i could not taste anything
i could not smell anything
i only heard his words reverberating through the fat
that swallowed me whole

The End

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