Still Born Romance or A Poem for a Poetry Workshop Professor
What germ inoculated you
in that kosher bungalow
with ape-like ooze and
pedigreed kolaches?..
Or struck from a fuzzy wuzzy doo
that put-off mug by having missed
Saturday morning ‘toons once again
(a minor consequence to modernity past its
3rd trimester)…?
The creatures peak in relief for a Finn McCoul
with so much salmon. Yummy.
For mostly, you were bred from a generation
who stood out of bounds of tradition,
composed nihilism with a kiss,
and knowing no survival of deception,
wasted any time doubting the world
over yourself.
Yes, brutally honest slaughtering so…
Holy water of the Jesuits did confound
Methodist chemists.
But what am I trying to say (?) :
I appreciated the spill..
the azure thrown-on top, half corduroy,
fleshy pants and shoes of a Blackman
to convince.
God, thank god someone’s made it out alive!
With those vino sneakers you sidestepped
being damned,
(with maybe the help of a good woman),
and rambled a preamble
through a 400 horsepower right brain—
the same lobe of which is also responsible
for anxiety—and managed to turn off.
Just like Steve McQueen charging
his crotch-rocket over barbwire machine guns,
there is some lighter tragedy comedy drama
for the Great Escape past
your creator’s fault-line
and lost german shepards
tugging their grey-spot sons of Nietzsche
who go crazy in globs of essence.
They will live on (Vonnegut was right),
if only for their fashion sense.
On the brink of this molten premonition
they brought you Virgil to show the abominable
sights.
You laughed into their reeking eyes—
“No! I asked for a Virgin!”