Everybody Else Took The Shortcut
As far as I can tell
I’m the last guy I know
who worked through
his suicidal depression
instead of nuking it
with pharma.
It was a gamble:
I mean, the depression
coulda got me
before I
nailed it.
And maybe it got me anyhow
-it sure as hell ate
most of my life.
So what did I gain
by wrestling with the blues
instead of washing ‘em away?
Let’s just say
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poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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The Last Beach
The last beach
the Colonel took
was concrete
and led
from his Caddy
to the Crystal Fountain Dining Lounge.
He bravely advanced
halfway
to his objective
under withering fire
from the
grenade-sized tumor
in his brain,
then collapsed.
Across the road
The Shellpoint Village Nursing Pavillion,
complete with hospice for the dying,
patiently awaited his arrival,
as manatees
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poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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The Last Poet
the last poet
marched the last simile
to a barren hillside
made it kneel
and fired a round
into its neck.
It collapsed
like a….
like a….
like a….
The last poet
gave the last metaphor
a death sentence
and executed it
by the banks
of the river of no…
of the river of no ret….
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poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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In The City Of Poets,12/26/09
in the city
of poets
all men
are equals
and stride about
congratulating
one another
on their genius.
in the city
of poets
the statistics
of attentive readers
exceed
all expectations
and the bookstores
burst
like fat silos
with their harvest
of rhyme.
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poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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A World Of One's Own
At the same time
Shakespeare’s sister,
Shakespeare’s brilliant,
pregnant, sister,
was killing herself
In London,
the North American Continent
was doing perfectly well
without her or her genius
or her brother’s genius
on the other side of the Atlantic.
Well, not perfectly well.
The Spanish were already making
a big mess of Mexico
and Central America.
A BIG mess.
But lots of things
were still going well
north of the border
that wasn’t yet there.
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poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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Buzz Aldrin, Space Imperialist
Buzz Aldrin, Space Imperialist,
discovers a tiny brown lesion
on the end of his nose.
he uses his wife’s
concave make up mirror
to examine it more closely
and confirms his worse suspicions:
It’s malignant.
Coolly, he makes
one appointment with his dermatologist
and another in Samara.
After brushing his teeth
he takes another look
at the tiny brown Angel of Death.
It flakes off
-a brown booger.
Buzz cancels his appointments
and craves a celebratory drink terribly,
but summons his fantastic will power
and resists the urge.
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poem by Percy Dovetonsils
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