House Of The Absurd... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Oh, to ensconce in a house of the absurd,
airy steads so owned by those recherché
that open their nostrils so people like we-
can see straight thru' their hollow skulls,
and muse about how they all sleep at night,
observing fine lines on their bedroom ceilings
imbrued by the maize of stale nicotine;

strange folk, I've heard of some tell-tales
of Ménage à trois by their own DNA,
and curious me at such hideous practice,
so abhorrent, yet the mind owns my queries,
along with Curiosity, my semi-Persian cat;
not so strange as I think it more blasphemous,
and I know I want nothing to do with the likes-
of them all, and their effete behavior;

it's no wonder common folk upon seeing them
walking down Cobblestones narrow, cracked path,
opt to cross through fields of summack,
than to chance a mere brush past their cloth.
I wonder if within their bizarre persuasions
have they ever considered their reputations;
Foolish, me, as such cultishness be blind,
Oh, but still to be a fly on their ceiling,
or perhaps just a fine line in shadow,
to see if I see what they see,
every night in their house of absurdity,



FjR=MMXVII