No!
  You can't leave.
Not yet!
...
    We've just started.

I won't let you!
...
[It slips out the fire 'scape.]
Though in my eye 'twas all the time,
it 'scaped my sight till th'apex of its flight.

Where did the warm orange tea go?
Ran out the door hours ago;
& it didn't even take its aftertaste.

Remember the times inside rainy days?
When we'd save Toad from dumped paint?
You were there--you'd know.

I remember all the warm dank caves.
You didn't like them, but I did just the same.
(& this is 'bout me, anyway
--make your own shame.)
When they seem lost, I get a glimpse o' their glow;
but this time it seems as if they're truly gone.

Today I saw burnt-black mushrooms on the lawn.
Maybe they'll be fed by rain.
But I'm sure it'll leave them just the same:
slid out the 'scape in just the same way.

That's how they get you, it seems:
feed you up on that bitchin' graham cracker cuisine,
till it digs a li'l hole where it always lives,
& then they try to fill it with that lobster shit.
Not me.
  I don't know where it's been.
    I'm not ready.
      I've just started.

Please may we have peace?
That blasted sweet melody!
Do do... do, do-do-do...
             Fuck, I can't even get it right.
                     It won't last the night, you know.
                               Nothing will.
Don't think your childish inanities are too good to go.
                              'Sides, now we have a heavy beat.
Bum, dum dum dum-dum...
I can't that right, either.
Say, this reminds me o' that time I was ill.
Isn't the way we look back @ such seeming tragedies kinda neat?
          Yeah, me neither.

& you know what's sick?
I'm sure I'll look back @ this with a slick grin.
Well, no, I s'pose I've exaggerated;
I'll look back in an autumn o' content.
How we cheer @ the leaves regrown,
ignoring their predecessors thrown.
For though I know I look stupid bending my own stem,
  Know some o' us aren't smart 'nough to stop.
& 'sides, a'least I get to hear those groovy tunes in the interim.
  Da da da da da-da da...

For hours I’d gaze up @ those spritely flames

Bourn by the coupling ‘tween sunset & clouds,

& meshed e’en mo’ unscorched in icy rain,

With thunder white & hot—& just as loud.

I spread my arms & wait for rain to flood

Around my body, soul, & coupon stashes—

Veins running @ the touch of such cold blood

Till filling my soft stomach with warm splashes.

I’ll always miss the weather you display,

Every morning, night, & all the days.

River rings

spread to me,

stroking finger

in the sea;

pockmarked lights,

fog snug tight,

shadow pines

gently glide.

When life puts carpet in your food,

be smooth—

There’ll always be another moon.

When th’world eats you without a chew,

just coo,

‘Cause there’ll always be another moon.

Patter patter,

branches battered,

skies scattered,

colors splattered;

splashing feet,

runny streets,

minty streams,

shriveled leaves.

If they serve you mud without a plate,

let’s play—

There’s always be another rain.

Don’t let them lick the frosting off your cake,

hear caves,

‘Cause there’ll always be another rain.

Crumpling air.

Lightning flares.

Pounding snares.

Soft nightmares.

While mourning the morns the afternoon had torn,

be shore

there’ll always be another storm.

If you shut your hand in another door,

be warm,

‘Cause there’ll always be another storm.

So pour me another,

pour me another.

Snap!

“O, it’s OK:

I’ve got the others.”

But then the last heart string snapped

& he was choked by blood

—which doesn’t taste like pizza sauce.

Dick
quit piddling—
you ruin my writing.

Water down-drain
1st light @ night
on a wild train.

Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
The bucket must be dumped whenever it gets full,
  or it'll spill & feed mold,
    killing us all with its toxic fumes.
But 1 day I will forget.
I try not to, but my mind,
      it slips.
I can't waste time--
  there's only so much;
but like the heathen that is I,
  I let it leave my clutch.
I count the hours squandered.
I count the hours squandered counting the hours.
Shit.
I almost forgot to dump the bucket 'gain.
  Must hurry.
Don't I know my worries will wane
  if I only stop wasting my time in worry?
& here I worry mo' time worrying 'bout my worrying.
I have no one to blame but myself.

I know I should probably ask for help.
No!
I most certainly should not ask for help.
I shouldn't stuff my face with your pie while giving nigh.
No!
I most certainly should stuff my face with your pie.
How uncouth would be such a denial?
We all want to take our vital vials;
  but sometimes prescriptions cause contradictions,
    & the lord that is logic itself stipulates
      that some must be deprived.

So I'll dump that bucket 'gain & 'gain,
  Relishing its empty moments.
Though I see the wall straight 'head,
  I know my smash will be sudden.

Fuck it.

Accompanying music.

April is the coolest month¹,

breeding flies & leaking oil.

¡Plastic stomachs’ filthy fluff!

¡Mattresses with ripped-up coils!

Here the seagulls sing their squawks

through the acid lemon rain

over rusty concrete blocks

with glass shards & worthless change.

Spread your arms, feel all the brine,

bang your heads while ravens cry,

«HURRY UP PLEASE IT IS TIME.»

Footnotes:

• [1] Actually, October is; but that wouldn’t work with this parody. Maybe if I do a «Prufrock Sonnet»…

Me pillaron reyéndome solo otra vez.

Now they’ll take every cake ‘gain.

No más me pasaré bien;

they’ll trade mine for their entertainment.

Oh, cómo echaré de menos los cranjeros

by the coast;

cómo extrañaré los sentimentos

o’ the socks on my toes when I’ve become a ghost

y por último me fallecerá la corazón.

—That is when I’ll learn the hurt from laughing ‘lone —dijó esos.

They caught me laughing ‘lone ‘gain.

Ahora sacarán todas las tartas otra vez.

Things won’t be swell for me anymo’;

intercambiarán su divertido por esos de mio.

O, how I’ll miss the crabs

cerca de la costa;

how I’ll so miss those feelings

de los calcetines en mis pies cuando me ponga una fantasma

& finally my heart fails.

—Eso es la hora que aprenderé el duele de reírme solo—said those.