If it weren’t for those incessant lines

If it weren’t for those incessant lines

a sprinkle of sheer enjoyment would be upon us.

Alas, still closed it reads a book

the droplets from the spring I shook—

and blew away the obstacles.

The last damn bits of powder from the sleeve

Reprieve.

Retrieve those antioxidants

You swallowed with the thoughts

Of them. That measly intellectual:

Disease.

Who said my sublimation was

inferior sensation?

Is that the touch your fingertips

Achieve?

The miniscule apartments

(I know you were a part)

and crept from.

Bent upon the notion of

reprieve.

Don’t worry little Golden boy.

I’ll leave the door ajar and coy.

And close my eyes

While Up you size—

Effeminates and undesirable breeds.

But Please

Don’t forget to lock the door

Before you’re cocked

—to learn of more

triumphant ways to whack away the weeds.
A Library / 2013