There's nothing funny
and it doesn't tickle
nor is there any gold to be spun

the sensation's rough
filled with pain tears
and very little mirth

but that is best understood
coming from your mouth
directly into a silver microphone

With a pointed hat
ruddy face
and a frosty beard

you take me back
to a past
of fried bologna

cheese Wonderbread
and mayonnaise and
in the end

I am left
with following
conclusion

you truly are
what you ate

all those years ago

never

never

we are never off
the clock

always

in a race against time
on a  hamster wheel

that and along with other
absurdities

gets stitched together
to make life's quilt

that was never

never
and I mean never

supposed to make
any sense

Bean bags tossed
two and fro

his hands are fast
this man

in his striped shirt
and black pants

literally

he juggles
while I struggle

to balance a marriage,
job

hopes and dreams
seemingly and somewhat absurdly

on the head of a pin

Messages
of common sense

coupled with dimestore
philosophy

slipped neatly
into sugary wafers

while the Great Wall
in faded gloss

exists far across
the dining room

in the beginning
there was light

albeit pale

and our mouths watered
but what we came for

never really transpired
and we left

wanting more

of what we do not
know

No spotlight
that disappeared
years ago

now

just you wearing a madras jacket
loud shirt
and a polyester tie

leaning
against a varnished wooden rail
speaking into an old radio mic


trying to talk
over the Rolling Stones
on a Wurlitzer Jukebox

to no one
in particular

This morning your eyes sparkled
as you talked

to the birds that chirped
through the screen

then you shimmied up
your scratching post

I wish I could take back what happened
to you three weeks ago

and found you before it was
too late

my cross to bear but
bear it I will