With a chunk of whole-grain

With a chunk of whole-grain

Garnished with green olives

And tomato.

As I watched the girls go by.

They were young

Everybody is

Should I be sanctioned?

Feeling guilty for thinking

Is a mug's game

But we do it anyway.

Half of the good things

In my brain

Are thrown out

With the old

Which is a moot point

In any revolution.

So many good intentions

To make things better

Leave us with

Sloths and degenerates

Who create malapropisms

With vim, vinegar

And all the vigour

Of farmyard Napoleons.

Is it brave to stand up to be counted

When a reckoning

Always leans toward the pale one

In the corner

With the quill

Writing the truth in a book

Using red ink.

Words written in the blood

Of the mighty

Oh, how they have fallen.

As low as they go

We all go lower

When self-preserving.

Those who persevere

Last longest.

Though not as long as art

Which it is said, will live forever

Unless it is torn down

Wheeled off in a barrow

To be used as firewood

Or confiscated by the critics

Of good conscience

With a high opinion of their own worth.

Drifting back

Into real time

I finish my repast

With a fresh juice flourish.

Oh, lordy lordy,

It is better

Than waking in an alley

Hung low

After one too many sherbets.

My soul is nourished

Along with my well-being

Eye for beauty

And sense of purpose.