I’d like more
than one death knell,
I’d like a
personal
bottle of lightning,
that I’ve caught for
my very own.

I’d give up that
little **** of a
rat-terrier if
it could,
somehow,
transmogrify
into a wolf
or
a panther.

I’d like
a jet-black
Camero,
with tires
made of fire
and seats made
of smoke.

I think that
a little toxic-waste
is good for you.

(keeps ya sharp, yeah?)

I think
that a man,
a woman,
hell,
any human
worth a ****
ought to be able
to ride into battle
on a goat, a *******,
or a *******
llama

and

know in their
hearts that they are the master
of their own destiny.

It’s a rough sea,
it always will be.

That’s life.

Be sad,
mad,
a little depressed,

but,

stay here,
because there’s
kielbasa sandwiches
with mustard and
onions.

There are people
that love you,
there are books,
songs,
flicker shows
to see.

The sharks bite,
the octopi might
squeeze,
the rays might sting.

None of it means
anything,
if you don’t…


Take off the floaties
and swim.

*
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019