Sunday, September 12, 2010

Whose Troubled Boats Disappear

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Oxen of the Sun 397

Upon a proper prayer
Offered politely to the prostatic stranger
The civil disease that has befallen us
We are lavished with a happy passage
Obliging us to leave this silly century behind
To bow out early while a narrator achieves heaven
And we are left to accept the leftovers
A most excellent opportunity of the wombless
our nearest neighbor overjoyed
As we part at the point
Ecstasy through our pain
A cheery belly full of violent congratulations
An excellent distance now becomes atmosphere
As we disappear
Into laughter.

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