There's nothing much—to see here
folks; he's
just your average—run
of the
mill, bland super-
natural man.
Still somewhat of a card
now and then, but
mainly around the emptier
kinds—of supper tables;
where it's austere
and it's dark and late
and safe enough
to mumble through—
certain prepared remarks
and droll little self-
deprecating numbers
about—how
the source
of his true power lies
in his rapacious capacity
to absorb
and then smother—
the exceptional with the ordinary.
For instance—the most significant thing
to him
about the lifegiving starlight
that fills your planet—
is just exactly—
and only—
the fact
that it's yellow;
or else, that he heartily dislikes that his—certainly
rather impressive!—and rippling
arms chest and belly;
still shake
when he laughs
like a bowl full of—he'd probably
pretty uncannily
quickly interject—toilet water.
