I preach the winter
coming on, the thorn in life.
A black flower went to
my Valentine—
we were merry and broke.
Here, my love, is
that rare vision,
how to buy ease of mind:
a hamper of melons.
The way, though poor,
was a good companion.
I left my wife,
my brother, my wife,
my uncle, my wife,
my father, my wife
without a thing.
In my new boat I am glad to leave
business a while
like a cunning fellow in a grave
or a little blind shoe,
ashamed to be bland.
In my chest, a thin rain.
In the disco, the young ladies bought me,
light for night.
I found my Zen
useful in bed.
A man with feathers was in quest
of a kite, but through want of time
was taken up by joy.
High words would have been better,
but all the company was dancing
and tumbling, vexed about joy.
A seal came
for the oysters—
a good, broad bed—
and stayed
to stir sand.
a child christened—
her simple noise
and wrangling about
This is
the way
to my lady’s bed:
a pasty full
of fat, the moon
in my hands.
Alone with
my comfort,
a pungent necessity:
to look askew,
to call up an anger spirit,
to yield to the mother
of all trouble.
My fat hat is an angry hat,
a troublesome hat, a weary hat,
a staid hat, a yesterday hat,
a war hat, a Big Brother hat.
O mother, O wife,
in the country of Chance I am king
in a velvet cap.
I had a mine and sealed the thing
and save our money in trees,
which cost a song and keep
the children company.