Mr Pseudonym

Everywhere with a more serene ambience
than intercourse with Godzilla,
is a haven in his eyes.
His quest for meaningful conversation
is reminiscent of the search for wildflowers
in a desert carpeted with rain makers bones.

He is one with his flamboyant rhythms,
and surging labyrinthine tales.
The worlds he’s created are loved,
but the man behind the literary veil
is as unknown
as the whereabouts of Tasmanian Tiger colonies,
as ignored as Yoko Ono’s Greatest Hits.

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