Someone send me fifty cigarettes.
Keep me awake far past sunset.
Get the football on immediately
And make it a fiery affair.
Drown out this mop and bucket mouth.
Find me a guitar string to silence a theatre.
Strum all the chords in unison.
Whisper powerfully into the crowd's ear
About the journey to solar eclipse bliss.
Ignore the scattered failures,
Stamps on lamp-posts,
Brash stickers of the past,
Cornered in all that success.
Distraction from the looming task ahead.
Let the teaming rain return to my brain,
Where pie survives in cement,
Jackdaws squawk and talk of walks
Across the kissing couple hills
Instead of pizza orders set for ten.
Counting stock with matching socks.
Clocks are the enemy these days.
But they may be my best friend.

Attendees at the game of the gods,
come in three
Pythogorean sorts:
First kinds are the lovers of wisdom,
the second are the lovers of honor and
the third are the lovers of gains. 
----------------
Ah, now, now

There is a demon
of the old kind attempting me
to lashout
my flagella and wipe my competitors from the stream
in this
only race that counts,

first and only, no second place in this race
to pass
through
into the egg, where life, as we know it begins.

All I brought, my entire being
as a cellulate entity with a will to win, is absorbed into
her.

Here, she perfects that which concerns me,
my will is done. I won.

Or did the others fail? Should I have slowed and let
another pierce this egg

and marvel at its works, while I am left useless forever?

Nay, or why would I retain this will to win?
Or this will to
calmly carry on, knowing now, this final phase in the course
of compleat being becoming,

slow and steady sets the pace,

right

up to now, k-pow, push meets shove and I win again,
recalling the joy when
I, the wiggly carrier of all that made me possible,

pass through your attentive staring, sorting egg-eye
maybe,

osmotical magical silliness wells up in me.

I was chosen. Or formed to fit, this
complex knot
lock meet for me, the key
ingredi-ant,

in ever stories provoking old men to grow on.
----------
Strange though it be, true,
Isaac Bashevis Singer inspires me, with words he left behind
for just this reason.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IsaacBashevisSinger>

Like a hammer that’s too short.
Like a wall that feels lacking.
Like a land of giants, vanished.
Like a god among gods who aren’t your own.
Perfect in an imperfect world or

imperfect in a perfect world;
your imperfection shown.

Yggdrasil overgrown and all the options leave you empty.
At first nine worlds seem plenty
but soon you hope for twenty,
finding no treasures tempting.
Your desires in the waters 

of three holy wells reflecting
a thing that seems calm and collected:
an ending to the ending;
soft but not,

like a pillow made of rock,
you rest your head upon
the thought of Ragnarök.

Once upon a frozen land,
pity weigt upon your soul.
You saw it fit to take me, then,
and offer me a home.

Seems I was never in the right,
though He was never wrong --
what fool was I to never question
where I, true, belonged.

Years drifted past us quietly,
dripped from both our hands,
but you had always known the truth
despite your careful dance.

Now that I've seen your clever ruse,
and I, your son no more..
Ragnarok, one day, shall come --
your crimes, you'll answer for.

my fiery and forgiving god of mischievous delight and pranks
who holds me in his loving embrace to shield me from harm
guide me and protect me from the stabbing swords that have fell on me cutting, slicing and gashing into me to cry in anguish and pain
love me and be tender to me like a gentle, caring lover that will never betray me, pray to you my ever loving handsome god, loki, may the valkyries bless me as well and guard me as well as loki's children keep me from danger

O husband, behold the marks that mar your handsome face!
The angry red where poison left its sting,
Where my arms trembled.
Where I failed to save you,
If ever you were mine to save.

O husband, remember when your eyes first met mine!
We were so young,
When we married beneath the world tree.
When we danced among cowslips and primroses,
Like life would always be dancing.

O husband, think fondly on the first child!
Meant to be a great warrior,
Born as night broke into dawn.
Born a prince who would never be king,
By no fault of his own doing.

O husband, think too on the second son!
The magician and scholar,
Gentle in thought and action.
Gentle in word and deed,
That innocent youth.

O husband, cry for that betrayal!
The punishment passed down
By highest authority and greatest king.
By queen who shared my lineage,
Who in punishing you punished us all.

O husband, forgive my tears!
Those that drip down my face,
Landing on our dirtied robes.
Landing on your ashen skin,
As cooling as the poison is hot.

O husband, my strength grows weak!
She the always faithful,
My arms burn with the weight of two small corpses.
My arms sing with the agony of venom,
Fingers trembling where they grasp the golden bowl.

But O husband, I shall never leave!
Faith unwavering I sit by the eternal flame,
My husband the Silvertongue whose voice has long gone out.
My husband the Sky Traveler, who now lays bound to the earth,
I shall hold the bowl unto eternity.

O husband, behold the marks that mar that handsome face!
The angry red where poison left its sting,
Where it is soothed by the tears from mine own cheeks.
Where I failed to save you,
If ever you were mine to save.

When you take everything from a man
And his trust has been betrayed,
That man cannot be trusted
But you can trust his rage.

That man will stop at nothing.
He'll be ready to take the fall.
In his rage, he will seek vengeance,
And he will want it all.