Friday, January 2, 2009

Ethereal Beauty #59

It's rained non-stop for thirty-eight days.
Sheep, morose, wander the vestibule.
Nurse Ratchett brings out the metal trays.
On a tethered rope is a circling mule.

Uncross my garters, Nurse, let me go.
Hand me my blanket, I'll chew wet grass
Out back with my confreres, so-and-sos
Who lovingly bleat when they see my ass.

In Sanctuary, a corncob pipe
Broke Temple's hymen in the loft:
Popeye wheezing, the manic-lust type
Could've been me in the barn as I cough.

I must remember his sad fate, hanged
In a drab and lonely jail cell after,
In impotent fury, envious pangs,
He murdered her lover, snuffed their laughter.

But the day is long; verses tender.
My sweetheart glows in my addled mind.
Fuck, I'm glum. I'm off on a bender
Where I'll dunk cold spuds in rotgut wine.

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