Poetry: Eggs and Bacon(a dinner without mercy)

Uncle Ronald Reagan

eggs and bacon

saddam and osama

dubya and obama

an Inconvenient Truth

QAnon Antifa jackboots

that the old lair

smelled like burning hair

Johnny Ola took Fredo

to the backstreet Donkey show.

"They call him Superman."

In another form of existence, I became discorporate, vaporous, and traveled through doors, walls.

Even through the vacuum of time.

I saw that my poetry was pretty ripsh*t.

And Dana thought I was rude.  Which is, in part, true.  But truth has multiple perspectives, in the subjective universe, not in the Platonic formal universe, where we circulate the memos and talk about:

The Victory of Blight.

I brook that I wot not what is what

but that I talked myself out of the corner,

even standing in the middle of the room;

and lay prone, watching the buzzards.

An eye exploded,

and I, a turn at the mailbox to see,

watching my young tomcat George

on the slow approach to devouring his aunt.

Lifelong friends never tasted this good.

I thought, a dinner without mercy.