Poem: A Magician

A Magician 

came to sit
with my friends and I
in the bedroom
at my parent's apartment,
but my parents 
were not there,
but that magician was.
He had glowing thumbs
that plucked light
from air, but not
that night.  The magician
was there, but
he was only being a magician,
was thinking and existing
as what he was,
even if magic was not enacted.
He came and spoke,
the magician was there,
and he asked me
what I would ask
of I were granted
one question 
to be answered
by God, and I
answered, said I would ask
what the ideal conversation
we could be having
right now.  The magician
smiled and shrieked
that it was a perfect question,
was ideal.  He was so excited,
the magician,
he must have been waiting
to ask it himself.

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