How like a window into tepid souls
is my third eye upon this turgid night:
more fortune cookie than a Dead Sea Scroll;
more freezer burn than tragic artic blight.
I will not give up my apostrophes
or semi-colons. Let the pundits gripe:
they did not daunt wise Erastothenes
nor did they still the most courageous pipes
of Miss Marianne Faithfull. Let me see -
I know I can be more obscure than this -
I'd take my Cinderella Liberty
if Yoyo Ma would open up for Kiss.
On Lamastide did my Sweet Susan float
out of my reach on filthy Charon's boat.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
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