written 1999, with a vast demolition and renovation June 13-14, 2016
From where I stand
Two feet short and losing ground
It’s worth asking now, as I go down
What’s the point of a kingdom
If it costs a crown?
The little old cannon on the knoll
That once was manned
Will not fire on distant command
Nor is the motherland
On speaking terms with the back my hand
A crack in the wood tells fantastic tales
Of sardines that march, and time in a stream
Trees that grow down and skies that are green
And if these towers be flowers
What knee shan’t cower from fleas?
Black holes hewing blue by the hour
Inspire the guru lines of novice avowers
How the feathes flew to the nearest pew
Scribbling on shoes the sermon of a cockatoo
All minding their steps while debating the rules
With eyes always askew of royal review
One second fat, one second thin
All in the day of a Victorian
But showing some shin!
What a brave new world I’m in
Flag the nearest port, I’m lost at sea
Don’t find me, don’t you dare find me
Rat races are the only way to be
Better to chance the wolting winny waves
Floating amid cast-offs
With the same last names
In a dance that dips the worst and leads the first
With equal impunity
That teaches the importance of air to melody
Laughing lobsters fuss with ease
Each troshing tossy splash a mashing thrash
Ev’ry solly splish flavoring such dilly-dally dish
While conducting coral chorus after tea
“Sing a song of salt, a pocket full of seed
All the gold in Ghent won’t
Shape those arms to wings
Seven ships set out one day
T’was a mighty rowing fleet
That caused such a laughter
On from beak to beak!”
The lobsters, getting their fill of laurels
Swim away quarreling to define a moral
This may not be a game I can win
What a brave new world I’m in
*part of a longer cyle of poems entitled Bottle.
No One Will Believe You 