My mound wants only for the name of a creation

Or creature that destroys its creator - something to turn

The head in a room full of odalisques

& entrepreneurs    A nom de guerre to go

With cacophanous looks    Bony crests    Bright blue &

Red raw naked skin on the neck    Long bristle like black

Feathers    Dagger like claws    A pair of sunglasses

Found on a lonely park bench    The kind that never are lost

But are left behind on purpose    As a last resort

Given the seriousness & hopelessness of a situation

That each of us in his or her own way may wonder at

While never coming grasp in its arcane meaning    My own

Sorry tale relates to an accursed phial

Which came into my possession as a result of my penning

An innocent fan letter to a certain archdruid    May heaven heap

                                     the tic douleureux upon my forehead

If i ever do that again    For now i am burdened with this

Odious object until i can unravel the secret of some humbug

Which will invest me with the power to palm it off

On some other dozy twat    And it is all so senseless

& silly    But that is precisely

How it works    I feel its weight in my cloak pocket & shudder

At the realization that it is sheer numskullduggery

That animates this hapless orb    Grinds away

An infernal barrel organ    While we frisk

Evil capuchins    The evening crowds hurry by

With nary a sidelong glance    Athletes    Vegetarians    Women

Of childbearing age    If only he could send a message

To urge them to carry on this way    Look ahead & keep moving    Do not

Pause to affect a passing interest in that which obsesses you

Posted on Sunday, April 29th, 2007 at 2:40 am
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