My, what a radish rose,
I must say.
I'll trade in Poe for this Zen.
I imagine it's all zithers
And strings.
I'll play you a melody
On my lute,
Most minors and fifths.
I can't explain the number
Or pattern,
Bells or Pennywhistles,
What can I say,
Losing 17 seconds on the reentry. Where the grainy
Black and write
Finally wears you out
While I wait on 65.
What a pleasure
As half the family dies off.
And what, with no kids and all.
And it all goes 180,
Even if you find a woman
To go Karma Sutra,
Its too little too late.
I'll cartoon this ending.
All blue and humming.
And hey, What's a guy
Gotta do to get a drink
Around here anyway?