A Manuscript Soaked With Absinthe

Gears Turning In My Machine Head
 
I Scribe At My Metal Pedestal ,  
 
Feeling Verneish , Dreaming Of Bloaters
 
Over The Horizon , And Wired With Thoughts
 
And A Heart Ticking Out The Beats Of Some
 
Victorian Cabaret , My Longcoat and Top Hat  
 
Hung On My Octopi Stand By My Side , My  
 
Green Goggles Ready For The Sunlight Yet To Come ,  
 
Absinthe Warming Me , Stirring My Memories Of My
 
Ten Thousand League Journey Undertaken In My Youth ,  
 
My Corseted Maiden In Her Lace And Leather , Frilled
 
And Ready To Frolic , With Parasol And Purse , And  
 
Her Derringer Strapped To Her Leg , Pearl Handled ;
 
 
 
My Internal Analytical Engine Processing Data ,  
 
Determined Not To Do It With A Lick And A Promise ,  
 
Nor To Beat Some Devil Around A Stump , Nor Be
 
Stumped Or Balled Up , Like Some Bloody , Blasted
 
Bosh Head , Some Poetic Bunko Artist , Weaving  
 
Words By Hook Or Crook , Some Verbal Chiseler ;
 
 
 
Those Are Ones I Shall Nail For A Crooked Cross ;
 
 
Some Have Called Me A Curly Wolf For The Words
 
Dripping Off My Fangs , Yet I Cut A Swell Through  
 
The Crowds , Deadbeats Filling Dark And Dim Lit
 
Alleyways , Dippers Awaiting In Markets , Or The
 
Dragsmen , Who See My Carriage As Their Bank ,
 
Or The Duffers With Their Ducketts Ready If A Copper
 
Or Escop Inquires As To Their Status ;
 
 
 
I Recollect Passing By Doors , Ornate , Behind Which
 
Family People Practiced Their Dark Eugenic Sciences ,  
 
Brushing By The Soot Covered Chimney Sweeps ,  
 
Getting A Wiggle On , Before They Got Their Back Up
 
For Bumping Them On Some Narrow Cobblestoned Street ,  
 
And Thus Being Gone Up The Flume , Before I Knew It ;
 
 
 
And When I Stumbled Home , Witless , Gothhoven Ravens  
 
Watching Me From Gables And Cornice Precipices , Half
 
A Seas Over , Past The Haymarket Hectors Hawking Their  
 
Wanton Wares , Mumbling Under My Breath , Carefully ,
 
For Them To Hobble Their Lips , So As Not To Get Hit With
 
Some Hidden Holywater Sprinkler , On Some Hot As A  
 
Whorehouse On Some Nickel Night , Though My Irons  
 
At My Side Gave Me Some Confidence , Against The Jollies  
 
Jamming The Streets Ahead , My Kingsman To My Nose  
 
Against The Stench , Ladybirds Lining Doorways Lascivious
 
Offering Decadent And Devious Delights , My Lamps Tired  
 
From A Long Day , Wanting My Nethers So Well Earned ,
 
Yet , Played Out , I Stumbled , Yet Still Of The First Water ,
 
Before Puckering , My Reader In The Inside Pocket Of My Vest ,
 
Past Rollers And Brigands , Looking For Someone To Ride The  
 
River With If I Needed Them , One Sound On The Goose , Until
 
I Finally Got To My Toffken , And Putting My Twirl In The Keyhole
 
Made It To My Bed , And Dreamed Of Winged Faerie , And Pan  
 
Dancing In The Fields , Pipe Dreams Pouring Through The Night ;
 
 
 
Ah , Yes , I Recollect Those Days And Nights Well , And As I Throw
 
Up The Sponge On This Memoir , This Manuscript This Poem To My  
 
Perils And Joys , I Shall Not Be Nailed To The Counter , As I Sign My  
 
Monniker And Mauley !