A person once set out to balance all things. After stacking everything on either side of an enormous scale, there existed two towering piles of perfect equity.

The person then stood to admire their work and soon found the gravity of existence: Below their feet was a final scale, weighing them against their creation.

There the person still remains, forever bound by fear of inequality and love of humankind to serve as an eternal counterweight to the fruit of their foolishness.

By growing, we cool.
By cooling, we shrink.
By shrinking, we warm.
By warming, we grow.

The Count does not have transcendence, so he is Violet, and counts things,
and drops the top-most register of his voice.

Grover does not have intellect, so he is Indigo, and asks questions,
and drops the almost-top register of his voice, keeping the highest.

Cookie monster cannot communicate, so he is Light-blue, and likes to eat,
and drops the just above middle register of his voice.

Big bird does not have power, so he is Yellow, and likes friendship
and drops the middle register of his voice.

Bert/Ernie do not have creativity, so they are Orange, and like to pretend/make-believe,
and drop just high of bottom register of their voices.

we'll chat the world up,
making light of everything.
and swirl round our loosening,
to rest at our own feet.

looking deep at the sky,
and shallow at the ground,
we'll remember having done so,
and part ways.

Oil

Are there trees outside the city
that will never die?
and never fall?
and never rot?

Are there windows to other worlds,
that will never cloud over?
and never lie?
and never take over?

Is there oil that will never disappear?

Murder will be justified
with words from
a children's book.
These days have numbers.

A fridge, with no door,
falling backwards.

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