3510. JUST FULL OF GOOD WISHES, THIS SCURVEY

JUST FULL OF

GOOD WISHES,

THIS SCURVY

I can write you to death and probably will,

I can cut through your pantaloons with my

Xavier Cugat knife and my sharp stiletto wit.

I can grab your junk with my pliers and squeeze.

If that's what you want, tell me please.

-

Duracell is a battery, and you are an anode.

I think. Endless and pointless, this awkward

energy spews its mawkish ham-juice all over

my pudding pie. So, to make my kindling wood,

let's us go over things again, you and I.

A new start is a new beginning.

-

I waste the Wamsutta you sleep upon.

I recoil, as much as anyone, from the old,

Frankish standards of a Charlemagne mouse.

The bell tower calls. The chanting is all

in the attic. The chanting is all from on high.