Ubi sunt

Okay.

So, um, the last poem I'm gonna read is Ubi Sunt.

It relates to the tradition, um, of the ubi sunt tradition, uh, which is, like, where have the wonderful people, like the warriors usually.

It's a very masculinist, um, tradition, the ubi sunt tradition, but I turned it on its head and made it a feminist one.

Uh, where are the good ones, the beautiful, strong, and virtuous figures of yore? Probably where the moon is, hung aloft in effulgent skies, eating nails for breakfast, dying in childbirth, then resurrecting to give it all away cyclically once more.

"I don't want to be the moon," I said to Dick on the casting couch.