
as a dancing swan
i had a dream
i was louis vuitton
not no regular pawn
but vuitton—that bag
ain’t wearing no hag—
oops, that will get
someone to rag—
stalemate.
and back to vuitton,
as in louis,
except i wanted everything
bluey
pool clean,
dive in,
come out
the color
of paul giamatti
bluey.
frankly,
then muniz
said to manson,
marilyn that is,
not charlie,
“dreamy louis…”
i blinked,
realized indeed
i was now vuitton
bluey,
resurrected—
i confess,
in the image of
one nicknamed,
“Chewie”.
POET’S NOTE:
Part of the Wait. What?!? collection.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.



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