I awoke at two a.m., my reading light still on,
a book about the chupacabra of Boca Raton
lay open on my chest; I was a fan of science fiction,
the monsters of the southern hemisphere my new addiction.
‘Twas then I heard a growling sound from underneath the bed.
The creature from the pages had now crawled inside my head.
I closed the book. I killed the lamp and gave in to the night.
When morning came, I did not wake. They said I died of fright.
I can’t get a laugh out at the funny farm.
The cows love satire, but find it
ironic not to show it. (Cud-ups!)
The deadly ducks quack up at nothing.
Mules may bray, but only as harassment.
And then there is the neighing of the steeds.
I’d rather work the sad cafe and die of soul
attrition than founder in the flop and slop
of life within these fences.
Two bodies of life lined up on a couch
begin to slouch and generally disintegrate.
The dog eats their dust and turns into rust,
he’s thrown in a car but no one gets the license plate.
The cops get a call, there’s bones in the hall,
the pattern leads to obvious conclusions.
A couple grows up, drinks from the same cup,
and dies the slow death bled by love’s delusions.
Someone please break down the door.
Memory is on the floor.
How we lost this history
still remains a mystery.
Images that once were hale
now are rendered wan and pale.
It’s as if a seeping rain
has snuck in and washed the brain.
Photographs once framed and mounted
now can hardly be recounted.
All that had been once is lost.
Long life comes with quite a cost.
Sister Sidewinder just can’t take old Sister Snake.
They battle in the apses all night long.
One says "chalice," one says "malice;" it’s real hard to take.
Their dogma tells them everyone is wrong.
It would not surprise to see them battling with crosses,
en garde about the pews and sacristy.
It may be time for Saint Sublime to simply cut its losses
before one gets strung up by rosary.
It is not the world I wanted.
Claim it not as your mistake.
If at night our eyes are haunted
maybe this could be our break.
Some great star will fall upon us,
some bright moon will make us see.
It does not go on forever.
We must make it, you and me.
I cave in to all the charms fear
casts my way in depths and dreams.
Bury me deep in your arms, dear.
Life is not the way it seems.
(From "Invalids and Uncles")