Clock.

I think ultimately you hate Nero because,
as a dishrag in another house down the block
which hangs on the short hand of a clock,
it takes awhile for the rag to fall off,
the dishrag you hate also the being known as
Nero.

Nero was riding Eeyore one day inside Sears.
You hated that.

Also, one day Nero was having a mint julep
and sniffing some incense which was coming
out of an iron bulldog. He was on a porch,
and there were some centaurs in the yard
having a game of badminton. There were
no words to describe the feeling of hate
that gave you. I wouldn't even try.

But Nero loves you, and Nero's old Grandpa
Mumgag Rex loves you.

A thing is scribbling down inside a hole
which has remained undisturbed
for a few billion years, more of less.

Nero, dressed as Napoleon
went to Mecca, and brought home
a hooka pipe. You didn't like that so much.

But you know what, at like age 12
Nero gave whole speaches, and gave them
very well. Nero doesn't give a fuck what
you think.

Who the fuck are you anyway, compared to
a dishrag hanging on the short hand of a

clock.