31 Poem by Suburban Lovechild

31 flavors,
31 days,
31 years,
Of roads I have blazed,

A nondescript bookmark,
Of past, present, future,
Marking the place,
For the next point of suture,

Another round starts,
The resonance is heard,
And slowly fades out,
Like a long, troubled word,

It doesn't start over,
Because the end never came,
Just more moments of time,
For praise and for blame,

And who will play who,
During this current scene,
The last act was fair,
And to some point, obscene,

But, that makes for good drama,
The jester, he reveled,
The comedy arises,
With structure disheveled,

Go on with your song,
Whatever the pitch,
Eventually time,
Will cause it to stitch,

And, yes, there are plenty,
A medley in fact,
Like buffets of brilliance,
To feast on contact,

So let it be known,
The fun's just begun,
Some starting, none ending,
And just 31.

(8/18/97)