Monday, March 19, 2012

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.

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