Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Pome On Whether to Have Ants in Your Pants

Oh no, 
He want the world today, and he want it...now? 
No, he am easy, who cares, right? 
Yet. Nope. But. Hence. Anon. 
Aghast! Agape! Avast! 
Ye clowns beware! Argh. Oof! Oop!

And in my cheapo plastic lawn chair
he set, berift, denuded, beshafted of this
the progeny of imagination and words bespoken
as if in a Chatty Cathy doll commercial from 1963.
Bespouted, puttered, thrown-plunk life,
plunk-plop frog into this uncertain drift,
befouled and becalmed wilder-nest of un-eyed glances,
into a space of unbodied, unkempt stances,
tarry now sure where
not sure where not,
flank, flutter, flounder of feathers,
fish flying ever leathers do not count,
drip from the friendly onto wall plaster,
drinking nothing save water,
sons, ye sons and knowing someone's daughter
not knowing the spawn's sponging forward from blood,
bone and sinew. Who is? Never there is.
Ever square the plastic chair is.
Not querty of the milk meaning
left by the meaning truck,
no truck, nyuk nyuk stooges
bit, bet, better, bitter, bilger, biden time,
belche ye fodger frenking flopdooter,
avast, avant, advance, adhoc, adumbrate,
adoodle of cheese just a mite,
jangling, jousting jowls of jest,
nevermore, no nyet nuliepie cute blowing up
how very cute is dat done dither, hmm?
Bo godamity weevil jes a looking fer a home?
Foraldedal dimmie foraldedal day,
o singeth and ringeth dat dammit bell hey?

God-dopes he feel so expanded,
enshrouded, not too beclouded
in the gray echoey shafter slot of the it!
Give way, gang and then come desprange
of the sternklang cauliflower-true put upon
sound of golly-jolly gawd demd flowers
of luve a'mighty!
Ur-so it be.
Stet.



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Thanks much,
Grego