Your thoughts in toll will hold much less to pose
Than lost and leavened ghost until I'm glum
There is then more to boast than spout like hose

Not that you'd care, you want but to enclose.
I've had no room for that, a mind that's numb
A hope that's born it's all just so much prose

Fleeting out of camera, shabby pose
But never clubs its coached delay with gum.
No, there has got to be a way oppose

The stain this form pretends, not say arose
Or loiter near the fund or pool of scum
Who has in all delight decayed its flows.

Forget el'gaic spears, crushed dominoes
Nobody knows better than you and you're dumb.
Bludgeon the whole horse and who's left but hose

The chaplain's let unthread, his bleeding goads
Alight to fight Christ's blessing, thrice succumb
Or rejoined to compounds that spray the pose

Who lacking that display not clothes, just hose.











Used by permission of the author.