Sleep is not a luxury.
Well, not today.
Well, not for me.
Invention’s mamma had it right:
“Necessity” describes tonight.
Accordingly, I’ll be bemused
If morning finds my eyelids used
For aught but frames of bloodshot red.
Too bad I can’t sublet the bed.
I drink my whiskey from a shoe
Or, if I drank, that’s what I’d do.
I mean, I drink, but beer and wine
Both pour at speeds much nearer mine
Than spirits once or twice distilled.
And yet, had I my footpads filled
With fluids I’m obliged to quaff,
The higher proofs might frighten off
The worst that’s lurking in my sole.
Feet, neat. Repeat. That’s how I’d roll.
One more freaking day
Till it’s Saturday at last.
The monkey in the overcoat
That looks like what Columbo wore
Except it’s buttoned to the throat
Won’t show me magic anymore
Unless I promise not to cry
When things I don’t expect occur
But I will not comply ’cause why
Should I suppress my tears for her?
Flew in my mouth
I swallowed it
It traveled south
Right past my tummy
Through my gut
Around and down
And out my butt
And ever since–
This may sound funny–
When I fart
It smells like honey
He hasn’t mown the grass as yet. He
Started to, but his machete
Dulled, and then a hive of bees
Woke up inside the mower. Please
Excuse this slight delay. The grass,
Like these allergic hives, will pass.
Magical animals, fabulous plants,
Untreated water and unpleated pants…
Fantasy worlds, as far as they go,
Are delightful, but do they have mac & cheese?