1988

So I misread the bongos
For a double malarchy. So
The peach donuts were
A camera dustup, the wild
Vervets' impeachment dreams
A nono worth reheating.

It came up through the ducts
That the doxologist, you see,
Was a marionette fetishist,
And that all the patient
Pleading with the contraltos
Was a speechless giggle code

For a certain funambulist
He'd turpentined into dayjobs
And bessemer refis. They had
What is commonly known as
A "thing." This was back when
Information had use value

And private information
Even re entirely licit if goofy
God I hate this word proclivities
Still had the lustre of cash.
You know, the kind of room
Your eyes have to adjust to.

Have I told you today how much
I see in your eyes? The problem
Is, the word-eating world keeps
Imagining it wants that fluffy
Chiffon deposition machine again,
And so, more beach volleyball...

In any case or casa (miso
Is for lovers) we sped right through
The tribute to Special Ed and
Dismantled the "capstone gerbil" --
A rock formation, ahem -- something
That only happens in poems nowadays,

No matter what our crime writer
Giant syringes meant by the dayglo
Water coolers, mostly it was get up
In the a.m. and bitch up a violent
Face full of anomie for the road.
Why truss a capon, y'know?

Couldn't comparison shop his way
Out of a blister pack if you
Cased him up in pine and fed him beer
From age two. That prototype cuddler
Dinged me on the way to his
Enchilada freestyle, and my response

Was to urge the senate to consider
Sanctions. Now I'm prepped for
A new style of fighting. Try.