If you handle manufacture and taxation, then yes; you may turn my pretty petty poetry into Christmas-themed fridge magnets. I'd only request 7% of the royalties if you decide to overprize and sell them to unsuspecting Lmaoi tourists.

Don't stop at magnets. Expand the brand; let the glittery, silvery silliness of trickery cover everything the light touches. Make pots, postcards, cartridges and bridges. Let the trinket store run amok, for only if drowning in surplus we shall realize the folly of Reality; that we can buy, subscribe, get liked, swipe right, live wild, die young and for what? Ashes.

But anyway. What it's hard to accept is that each of us is but an old-fashioned fridge magnet, hopelessly losing its grip, slowly sliding down this wall of steel we sometimes like to call The Existential Waiting Room, a.k.a. "life." Why cling to it? Because spiders roam the floor, that's why.