An Epic Poem About Sauce

There once was a man,

Very set in his ways

A bit of a bore

You could tell by his face

 

He always worked vigorously,

Never spent frivolously

Neither drank nor took drugs

He refrained from debauchery

 

What most men would yearn for, our man didn’t crave

The common and tawdry he perceived only abstract

Thus a sin or a dozen he could easily waive,

As part of the rules of his life’s daily contract

 

Rarely letting the good times roll,

He entertained but a solitary vice

Which in the end, would still suffice,

To make him cough up the final toll

In Memoriam

What is left, you ask?

What is left of you now?

It’s only us,

as close as ever,

our tears and courage

like our arms together.

The stories of you

that we’ll tell each other soon,

and the ones that we remember

but which today we won’t repeat.

The thoughts we will be thinking through the night,

and the way we will be feeling in the morning.

We don’t make words that even matter,

no matter what the words we write.

What’s left is less

than when things were right.

Such is this, and we’ll accept it,

in time, in time, in time.

But not tonight.

For J.

The Day I Sold My Kidney

It’s four o’clock on a rainy day,

And I don’t have a place to go

I’m an old man

Hangin’round somewhere

But you know, I’ve been feeling alright…

Cruel Bindings

What is this thing,
This joy in rising,
That wakes up people’s hearts.
New sensations and ill-advising
Are all connected in the part

How does this thing,
Such royal ranking give,
That makes a King
To leave a beggar
And hollow longing for its wish

Why does this thing,
That makes one dream,
That feels so all-inviting,
In ending seem
So black of heart
Cloud up this silver lighting

Where does this thing,
Carry off the soul
But never leaving it to last.
From sheer beauty
To come down again,
This other Kingdom seems by far the best.