So much is happening and I’m bored.
I’m going to die. Oh lordy lord Lord.
I must write a poem that will last.
Or do a good deed. Or think of the past.
Wait! Here it comes! The present!
In a bow. Something pleasant.
It’s growling at me, Let me out!
I cross the field and shout,
“Where am I? At the end of the road?”
And when I get there I hear, ”You toad!”
And hop about but not for pleasure,
something’s after me. A Loose Pressure!
What is that? Just a thought?
It answered beyond me, “I am ought!”
Spooked now I head somewhere.
Leaves puffing jowls I slap the weather.
And amid those leaves hooting owls
I move about with my bowels
intact ready to go.
If you spit on me I’ll blow
my nose and hope for the best.
Avoid it all and come to rest.
One last hope. To be becoming.
For you, Great One. Just humming…