The poem you are now reading
was written by me.
Who, you may be asking, is Greg Santos?
A jumble of lines and scribbles.
Bits of data on a computer screen.
A lemur disguised as a man.
He is a figment of your

(and my) imagination.
Greg Santos once killed a dragon

with his bare hands.
Did I say dragon? I meant goldfish.
Did I say with his bare hands?
I meant by overfeeding.
He is sometimes a pen grasped by a hand,
attached to an arm, linked by nerves
to a brain, where inside we find
a somersaulting wind-up monkey.
In another life he was a Buddhist monk

named Ed.
He’s typing this right now!
G-R-E-G-SPACE-S-A-N-T-O-S
Follow the bouncing ball.
What bouncing ball?
There is no ball. There never was a ball.