informed him, time for us to mitosis split

we be like half-torn pieces of paper
towel, ripped  poorly from the roller,
edged raggedy, mishap misshapen
torn~apart
mismatched

he was standing on one leg when he
was informed, confronted, he retired to
the challenge of savasana, the corpse pose,
before speaking:

we are splitting our baby, product multiple
of the joining of our intertwining, a lessening,
and how can we give that up?

very Solomony of you, my torn report, not wittily,
which paused him from talking without thinking,
till he accumulated his perspicacious perspective,
informing me in his kindly lord of manor tone,
wisdomy superiority, advising me Brandy fierce,
that more appropriate, better than my selection
would be substituting his version more refined:

Solomonic
an actual word,

and i heard the sound of paper towel being  
torn into many little pieces, and smiled with
end-of-poem finale,

exactly

because he was so wrong for being right
one last time


brandy