Much to do before I die.
About planting a poem in your rosy eye.
One that would last through the morn.
Probably heard before I was born.
A simple one to be shared by all.
To be taken to the bank after the fall
by friends and foes, a dandy bunch,
who would eat me for breakfast after lunch.
The pride that I have to be belched through the ages.
From Gaga to Methuselah in various stages.
But for now you who aren’t paying attention
smell that rose in the fifth dimension.
Place your hope in the stock of the future.
Some lottery in the sky beyond nature.
You never know and you won’t ever
be bored in hell being poked by your neighbor.
It amounts to this. All my advice
pick up with tweezers and tease real nice.
We’re one in a zillion. A tender squeeze.
Now make the Giant sniff us and sneeze.
My Goodness!
Published in Poetry