MAD AS A HATTER
It goes like that in Doomacile;
where one hundred frog-posts live
in a perfect abode of Nature, the
domicile of all endings. We finish
the chores and go right to table.
-
I went to sleep last night reading
Ashbery. Sometimes that creepy
baby just makes no sense. He leadeth
me to rest in green pastures?
-
Maketh me lie down in green
meadows? Oh man, I forget already.
Before too long, that fat old moon
will give me more answers. I am
a werewolf in the heart of the night.
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