Poem Title:?....Profundae Medica Potionem

?would/could I?
be   ?
fit for space/time
wastings if not for
holesum
druggings piled of(up'on}
windowsilly
as thee moth of may, &
psychedelicately
teetering
-teetilly
teetless- up'on
     TheeEdge
where thee Sea[of]Eternitee
meats th'Land'o'Grand Delusement....


looky how aye sputter'spume laff&laugh
disjointed per an
alonliness
gone on & on fo'way too'long[,yet
never,ofcourse, farEnough
t'make 'it pay' it's-own-way]

myArt,(o'preciousArt,like-a flatulent rhyme)
 betrays me every step
 in sum iron[y] suckerpunch of 'honesty',
leaving me,my'ghostly presence
ridiculous-naked,
un
protected,

compulsively splattered on thee
screens
of our realworld


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