Classic Poem

There is not a man alive who does not
admire soup. I felt that way myself
sometimes, in a manner that greatly
resembles a plug. Swerving when
there were no curbs, vying
nonchalantly against the slot-machine
logic of my temporary guardians,
dressed always in damp
patterns with inadequate pixelation
to allow for the elan she
protested she provoked on such
sleep-induced outings in partial
compliance with the work-release program
offered as an principled advance on
my prostate subjection to
tales altogether too astonishing to
submit to the usual mumbo
jumbo, you know, over easy,
eat and run, not too loud, no
bright floral patterns if
you expect to get a job in such
an incendiary application of
denouement. My word! Ellen,
did you understand one thing
Frank just said, I mean, the
nerve of these Protestants, or
whatever they call themselves
or I ain't your mother's
macaroni and cheese, please, no
ice. Is sand biodegradable?
Do you serve saws with your steak,
or are you too scared to claim
anything? No can't do. "I
learned to read by watching
Wheel of Fortune when I was
a baby." By the time I was 5
you couldn't tell the slippers
from the geese. That's right,
go another half mile up the cliff
and take a sharp left immediately
after where the ABSOLUTELY NO
TRESPASSING sign used to be,
you know, before the war.
Like the one about the chicken
crossed the street because he
wanted to see time fly or because
he missed the road or he didn't
want to wake up the sleeping caplets.
A very mixed-up hen. "No, I can't,
I never learned." By the time
you get up it's time to
go to sleep. Like the one about
the leaky boat and the sea's
false bottoms. Veils that part to
darker veils. So that the fissure
twisted in the vortex. Certain she was
lurking just behind the facade,
ready to explain that the joke had been
misapplied or was it, forfeited?
Never again; & again, & again.
"Maybe he's not a real person."
Maybe it's not a real purpose.
Maybe my slips are too much
like pratfalls (fat falls).
Maybe the lever is detached from the
mainspring. The billiard ball
burned against the slide
of the toaster (holster). That's no
puzzle it's my knife (slice, life,
pipe). The Rip that Ricochets aroundthe Rumor . As in two's two too
many. "I thought you said haphazard--
but if you did you're wrong."
If you've got your concentration you've got
just about everything worth writing home
that tomorrow came sooner than expected
or put those keys away
unless you intend to use me and
then toss me aside like so much worn
out root beer, root for someone,
Bill, take a chance, give till it
stops hurtling through the fog or
fog substitute.

Save me
So that I can exist

Lose me

"That's an extremely unripe plum."
"There's no plum like the plum
of concatenation." Plunge & drift,drift & plunge . The streets are
icy with incipience.