Because my thoughts hath dodgéd Death –
It ‘bruptly stopped for me –
The Uber driver, he and I,
And my eternity.
He wiped the right hand seat for me
And offered peated Scotch.
I quaffed the high intoxicant–
Now life dint mean so much.
Sunlight, saw it first: I cried as,
Tuggéd, I was spawned.
An IQ test in my fourth grade
Exposed to all but me,
Labeled me a progeny
And there my troubles yawned.
Then playground toughs when I was ten
Their thorns ensconced my crown.
Then high school bullies taunted me
Down to a vengeful mess.
At nights I blender’d out their eyes
To gooey blindedness.
I see now hundreds: urns of ash!
The Uber passes yon.
Of such is extent is vital man
Worn through his life, his sash.
As lead meets lobe
And slices through
A man’s extinction’s mess
Through palms all red
Drip through her finger-sieves.
“But why? But why?”
Too late, she sees
That he’s erectilized —
But fading now
To puttied clay —
And falls she to her knees:
Too late to stop
The shot of lead
That led him, damnédly,
To take to hand
One sil’vry shot
To launch eternity.
One man wields words so well, I’ve wondered:
Is no left-leaning cow unsundered?
Wryly, Riley’s lithely rhymes
Often mime the chapel chimes.
Profligate, this word-stuffed beast
Bests celebs who are the least.
Waxes, times, religious awe
That drops my soul’s dumb, gaping jaw.
And then perhaps there are his best–
Pure grams of gold–an eggéd nest.
I wish I had his constancies
To match his craft, his constant sees.
Happens, it does, in a house of two loos
That husbands and wives utilize them in twos.
At one at the same time dispense we our waste!
The effluence merges, and love voids the place
Of solids and liquids, each giving chase
Down into plumbing and into the sewage–
An intimate mingling! Ejecta and brewage!
Oh, blessing of sorts! Oh, lurid perfection!
Celebrate we this wet cosmic connection!
I have a problem with my feet.
In winter of all times each sweats–
Olfactor’ly my nose doth meet
Sad, Sino-socks—none can contain
What each should best be hidin’.
Wife, she winces, pinches spent
Pairs from the toxic garden
Into laundry chutes they’re spurned–
Returned to Sino-Biden:
“These, your profits, these you’ve earned
“In China’s breast abidin’.”
Yet as I wear the pairs Red-crafted
Doff the pairs each night.
Consign them not to laundry baskets–
Noses, eyes, from site.
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
Have I been a Scotsman all my life?
Macbeth: Act III, Scene II.
Know you how I Ahab love?
His count’nance fits me like the glove
Of cassock Herman spoke thereof.
He cannot love. He cannot love.
And so Ahábic parts in me
I now extract—cranially.
I’ll take yon top-maul and I’ll smash
The brainy pieces into mash.
Pickle that, thou steward, care!
Save it–after I do dare
To choke the tooth of Moby out
Who groin’d me unto such despair.
Three days home, plus Christmas Eve and Christmas–
Sorry, you two, Aunt Flo’s here on business:
“Thou: deny your nuptial rights and fitness.”
Swollen men! Must we endure this witness!