Prosaic and pedestrian's a curse --
They pull the trigger, fancifying "boring,
Poeticless, alyrical unverse,
And frankly bad" -- a measurement for scoring
An unarmed poet's lines. I guess we'll walk
Pedestrian through Old Mesilla, grab
Our guns and banter, fill our coats with talk
And lead, our hollow parabellum gab
Bestowing geneses. Beneath gazebos,
Let's fiat lux it, bring it back from death
In business class with blinking signs: arribos,
Salidas, bebidas adultos, breath
Of fifth-day cowboy seraphs making birds
Sing, "Look both ways before you cross my words."
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