A Poet Couple’s Perennial Measure, Modest Tea Aside (A Bonny and Clyde Variation)

This is it, an irresistible purge pure as putrid

Blogging . . . latching on to

Consciences suspended among the laundry.

Indeterminate was it for ten long years,

Cerebral, a radical conundrum with the flair of a behemoth.

Now things short, and not for the hell of posting some things,

A perennial incredulity, really a vow, to ourselves, to gods.

Your samovar’s fabulousness has come to town.

And so we say to you:

“We’re on a roll & won’t stop, won’t patrol a disgrace.

What now, what now? Dull are we in highbrow articulation?

So serious, our asses, and stage-struck?”

Let us unite, like-minded allies, let’s allow us freedom,

Though with grace, with braces of follow-throughs

Lest the crucifixes beget rock songs ballyhooed

To see gaping holes, toward a colon perhaps

Against our semicolon moves.

God’s only human, so:

The simplicity, his incondite monstrosities, . . .

Is that what we should get for being pretty “asses”?

Ha! They’re gonna love us when we’re gone,

Though still prejudged on campus by

Academicisms, ROTC militarisms,

Which we’ll remotely face like vandals at large.

From a living room desk to a black hole mess,

My love, do you remember?

A salary in celery?

An armchair faction?

One already contesting the shaking samovars?

My gods! And still a lad and lass at that in that dawning

Of a new day, with a compulsion to change the world!

“We’re welterweight enough for some sympathy, you know!”