the phlebotomist drew my blood
i flew into the Lake District
the iron drained and out it came
universal donor thick

no test for anemia
attesting only to that needed
i sought the world of Wordsworth
but swirled landscapes fleeted

"let a sleeping dog lie"
came a wry voice from the bogs
through the peat there rose a spread
a sheet of green, a host of frogs

not the golden daffodils
old and ancient beings
the sort that torment day and night
relenting at your freeing

aghast i drew my hatchet
banged, hacked and made a racket
took the legs of one and each
left the dregs and had a feast

i wandered there as a cloud
donned my pack and burned the shroud
the shroud that was prepared for me
rested ash, bare of me

from the room the distant seas
resounded and compounded
filled the space till all I heard
were waters crashed and pounded

and Nietzsche utters Superman
and “God is a conjecture”
Zarathustra keeps on speaking
of the figs in every lecture

pulling the ears of Italy
and drawing the eyes of England
except Lucy who in her heart has found
a potion of a new blend

Tweedledee and Tweedledum
came with bottle ***
and after drinking more than some
turned TweedleDick and Dumb

All of my Merry Men,
Robbed from Barbie and from Ken
Because of their seemingly immense wealth
As fair models of Mattel

But my good men of Sherwood,
Failed to comprehend
That Barbie and Ken spent mounds of money
And hills of cash on designer clothes
Designed chateaus, and designated drivers

In fact Barbie and Ken were in debt
In debt up to their plastic foreheads
If only I had consulted with my Lady Marian
For she understood well the materialistic ways
of these celebrities of American fame

And us Englanders have no need to
Plunder the goods from a doll
Whether in Willows or Wyoming
And thus I set my boys straight

I watched her sniff a line of *******
From the mahogany table where we first ******

This wasn’t in the Cabinet Room
This was in our apartment
The place where I presided over the affairs with the aid of my Lady

During the night of Bastille we blew ourselves sky high
We aren’t French and I don’t know much about the Revolution
But the Eiffel Tower was aglow with the cracking of fireworks
And many people were keen on celebration
So we thought we’d hit powder

But not even Moriarty could have conjured the evil that next sprang upon our fête
When we realized that as we were approaching the heavens like the 7 of Mercury
Our friend pulled a prank and made our martinis with sweet vermouth instead of dry
Then we all began to crash into the Atlantic

The Eureka lemons were scattered on the floor
Dotting the hardwood like a painting by Seurat
And the dancers of Degas were nowhere to be found

But here at 10 Downing St.
Churchill’s predecessor knew what had to be done
He scurried about looking for the key to his mother’s boudoir

Alas! He cried
And with the speed of Yeager
He ascended the stairs, grazing the baluster

But at the top of the steps who awaited him?
The forbidden fruit, with leaves of the cross
The passion itself

And he burped as a result of the several White Russians
He drank with The Dude
And made his way to the place where Hooverball was being played

Because it is a drunk person’s game

A trip to Malé
Through the Indian Ocean
Absorbing Chinese relation
Tasting the umami of station

Repudiate the hedonists
And liberate the botanists
We dance in the finery of lilies

All flowers bloom in their season
Anything is permitted in the realm of reason

Salvage your respect
Muster your self-contempt
In the land of paradox
Left is right
And all that’s right is left