In Peterson’s Year of Hell

Oh fever’d night of sleepless hues!

Know I now of duty’d dues

Unto ones word-wracked neural paths

Churned and spun on Lethos’ lathes.

How to close my brain—each strain

Of thought, then verse, how to restrain

These mental heats that burst and show

Me as the cud-chewn spotted cow

That stalks myself like Ahab’s brow?

Pray hie thee hence away from me!

Allow some peace, some fraughtless space

Wherein verses, strain’d, shall be

O!

Hide me, lobster’s carapace!

Prison Teacher

Winter’s olden, damn-dawn fog–

Teacher glow’ring ‘mid the bog.

Earthen eyes at soulless stares:

Inmates fastened to school chairs.

Stare I back, heart stake at stanchion;

God has stated His injunction.

Do that deed I dare not mention–

Face His dread eternal truncheon.

Note: I found this deep in some records from an especially dark day at work. It may be 18 months old. I mean the good Lord no ill will. In fact, I don’t quite understand what my meaning was. Comments would be, in this entry’s case, most welcome.

Clemency Maintained

Clement grew potent, got caught in the moment.

He swelled out his monument—started to foment—

As Ms. Clement donned an erotical garment.

He: “Quotients of marriage are my just emolument.

“My seeds need to vomit a certain emollient.”

She: “Don’t froth so, dear—for me it’s a condiment.”