Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely than Death’s termless shade
and Zephyros’ most balmy gust: on the dark
page of gloom, it’s no misfortune to walk–
as with two Kangaroo Hops, I make up
the distance of Central Park. North-bound to
Harlem, which is Hell when Heaven it’s not.
Armstrong wanted to say “That’s one small step
for a man”, but the “a”, not audible, is lost
in transmission, captured by aliens–
those punk reptilians and greys that go BOO!–
when the Military Industrial Complex goes Boom!–
dressing up as Mickey and Minnie Mouse
to abduct Marilyn Monroe at the White House
Thou art more lovely than in God we Trust.
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