(The Creation)
Listen here!
Who in all of this great land, this mighty plate
on which justice is almost always served for all,
Would have thought that a whole people, a whole mass of eyes
connect directly to their wallets,
Would spend a day focused together.
And what a fabulous gathering of eyes and ears it was,
but for what? For who? And why?
From the forgotten foreheads foreseeing nothing,*
nothing except exceptional esurience,*
They were stuck.
Stuck to a box blasting boasts of grandeur.*
Then through the haze of half formed hankering,
He appeared.
  Kalvin Lauren, creator, inventor, reinventer, reinventor or the reinvented, fabulous...
Fashion designer.
Tonight this room, larger than many yet small in our world
Where many had lavished in longings for the love*
not of me, nor of you, but of us all
Could engulf the planet.
This room seeped through their boxes and into them and all that was around them
Kalvin Lauren, bestower of bountiful beauty
Approached the world from behind a small disc
for isn’t that all the world is after all?
“I give you”
Chairs were tipping, couches couldn’t be close enough, children must silence their trifle
The chips remained in their bowls, the drinks tucked beneath water’s wintery mode
It could wait, it all could wait.
“The perfect pair of pants”

(The Struggle)
There they fell from Lauren’s pin-pusher#
Pure purple prodigious wonder*
Who dared surrounded himself with such glory?
The fabulous Kalvin Lauren himself hadn’t even given his own legs this gift.
Who had the body? The physique?
They came from behind the mighty Lauren,
Through the steam of incredulity they arose,
As ants they approached, arranged, accessible, anticipating*
These men could wear anything, absolutely anything.
They’re hot.
These marvelous models made way for Lauren,
He came to one with his creation,
“Take it, and go. The people need to see.”
They were trapped now,
prisoners of Homer’s-home nothing could happen till this happened,#
“I simply must know how they look!” They shouted through thick thumbs,
A screen is unforgiving and their shouts merely echo and somehow amplify,
as if some dark force were making their warranted waiting take a little more.
So we turn to our first hero, only hero isn’t his title today,
“They’ve conquered me, these walker-squeezers.”
“But how!” cried the mighty Kalvin.
As ants they approached and as ants they continued,
next in line grabbed perfection, all purple and pure,
Man after man tried and failed.
After the men had failed the women tried too but their luck was the same.
The crowd converged on the captivating lights,
They were becoming distressed,
How could these fellows follow in a fashion that couldn’t fit itself?
Panic pursued through tangled living rooms.
“If they can’t wear pants who can?” they cried to each other.

(Kalvin Lauren’s Speech to the Masses)
Kalvin Lauren, the creator of all that is sexy, raised his hand and spoke,
“Listen here!” his voice resounded like a wave from room to disk to box to room.
They listened.
“Today won’t be the day my creation destroys us. These pants can give,
I am not trying to put your neurons in a knot,
We have one last hope, the man who conquered the thigh highs,
the man whose fans caused pandemonium in the streets of the silent city, $
No pair of pants, purple as they may be, could stop him,
he is not just any man,
No ordinary man could live as long as him
and still have a butt that could bust boards that even a black belt,
who had trained for years, tirelessly toling,
Couldn’t have broken.
No ordinary man could have fallen so hard,
from heels the devil herself couldn’t dream of wearing,
and still have an ankle rivaling that of the great achilles himself.
No this is no ordinary man, friends listen to these words,
our hour of darkness is over.
Fabian is here.”

(Fabian)
So far he traveled.
Across the road of the mighty mayflower from the tower of Gustave,
He feared no shirt, no shoe, no shave
King of fashion bashful for battle before the world, $
And yet eager,
Because these pants, these pieces of purple perfection,
They looked good.
They looked so good and who was he? Founder of the flawless, the man with the muscle.
He would wear those pants.
Excitement blew through the air like a poison,
None fumbling through functions searched another site,
just the room, right back to the room.
There he was again, the man who had dropped their heart,
the man who had built them a dream that even he couldn’t fall asleep to,
Kalvin Lauren appeared afresh,
“Now, in our hour when light has escaped us, I turn to one man,
Fabian, oh save us from this horrible fate,
you must put on these pants!”
A hummingbird's sigh could have disrupted the silence that followed,
rocking and knocking the senseless surrounders.
Fabian was there and his poetry-pocket opened to greet the masses.#
“Give me... the pants, in all their purple purity,”
Lauren released them from his grip and it was up to Fabian,
His fear fleeing he ripped off what modestly protected modesty,
he plunged first his big toe than whole right foot into perfection,
at first nothing, he grappled and grabbed,
They resisted and hissing, recoiled
but not fast enough for his passion for fashion was
for once, on time.
No one moved, no one could,
whole right leg, left foot, ankle, calf, thigh,
“He’s done it!” Cried Lauren,
and like a candle to a canary there was an explosion of noise,
from all over they chanted their joyous joy.
Fabian had given the people beauty,
“He looks amazing, so good, thank you Fabian you saved my pants!
Fabian has pulled on the perfect pair of pants!”
Kalvin Lauren’s cheers matched the others tenfold.
“I look good!” Exclaimed Fabian.
And suddenly the crowd didn’t matter they just melted away
“I look real good, why the best! I’m the hottest man who ever lived,
move over Adam, I’m coming up!”
And suddenly somebody gave a short yell,
Fabian looked down and the pants were painfully pulling,
down, down, down
Fabian sank into the pants, soon he was as a grandfather, then gone
Fabian was gone.
Kalvin gasped and looked into the gap,
Fabian was gone and all the remained were,
Pure, purple, pants,
pulled way up,
and anything but perfect.