Dog goD 8Hate
Muse for the Moment
There's a faint chime ringing daily more...
a widening gap in the temple door
and its hinges are being removed.
And that annoying garden wall?
In this abashing, spoony rhyme
of impeding walls, the exalting chime,
it seems about to fall...?
I know, I kno-o-o-o-w,
that frail, fine line goes thin,
and as overwrought schemes
trod paths stodgy... ennui... pathos.
Paths of bards whose pencils were made
o' lead and keyboards made o' ivory.
Buddha's last breath? ... reeked o' pork.
And this? ... humble finish.
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