no finer things

the little pains add up to something large
the little warmth seems quickly to escape
the message has run out the little tape
the body does not move without a charge
uncertain you stand wobbling at the marge
of this slow river wondering at each shape
in middle distance your senses almost scrape
to tell the outline of some ship or barge
not through this fog but in the sharpest light
the rowers bring the longboat in to land
to claim the place its deepest secrets to reveal
this is the means by with we show our might
you wonder blinking on that golden strand
what signals the days coming would unreel

Big infant's whine

I'm all grown up, and just to prove the fact
I'll tell on you, I'll tell on you to Dad!
I'm sure that'll make you sorry, just a tad,
but I'm not big on common sense or tact.
I know I'm always right, I've got the exact
answer every time, and how that makes you mad!
I'm telling father on you, just be glad
he's not in the kind of mood to have you racked.
I'm all grown up, I'm a real bitch and all,
I've got my work published in a real magazine,
I know I'm better, I've got the big award
given out by the truckloads, I am your downfall.
I'm the real thing, you're faker than margarine,
I'll annoy you and annoy you till I get bored.

absence of ease

with fragments of thought congealing in my head
i worry about the dry scratching in my throat
i'm all covered up indeed i might just add a coat
i feel i'm caught in an aura of deepest purest dread
my mind wanders in and out i cannot catch the thread
of thought my head seems almost to be afloat
yet still attached my wit's worth much less than a groat
i wonder where the pain and fear will spread
not to be sure tonight is being three times afraid
of what i'll learn tomorrow of which hard matters true
i'll have to deal with now it's not a simple deal
to be patient to wait to learn which bloodthirsty blade
has struck me now i wonder oddly at its hue
and what has chosen us this week to be its meal