Friday, August 21, 2009

When Sarcasm Agreed To Be The Empire's Cook

Grace, and traces of follow-throughs
was never allowed to take the lead
apart from accuse throat gargles
as mere skills, stop there, and face
the forum armed with intolerances
and camaraderie. Somewhere along
the way, a van dropped incongruous,
astutely sublime but insidious, happy,
au courant, alive, and superfluous.

Somewhere along the stray bullet's trip
I heard candlesticks mourn the day
with symbolic jouissance, said hey hey
my my, rock and roll would never lie
to the effervescent and trepidant:
august therapeutic that you were
to my icy bed, I still couldn't perceive
the crux of your argument, this luxury
of fame demanded by charity cases.

Be that as if June, but you're not
ready to bloom, can't be that, cannot
be but fat for Rome's catacomb rose
whose name is a crevasse of brevity.
I was lucky to be alive, of course,
crazy for death, but here I am,
fluid as a lamb casserole, forgiving
metal pots around me, a division
of labor, my flavor of sour cream
comforted by roasted coffee candy.

Centaurs of the myth, appall me now.
Assurances someday you'll show me how.

No comments:

Post a Comment