At Those "Y's"! Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Satire
to capture
in absence that
playful star like flower.
Hold tight the lusts having
spoken and playing these out
of all existence thus unfolding that
which is of your existence … were you
and will you continue to unfold you?
An existence of the very scent of
death, swelling in the folds of
life; hidden and growing.
Caste since birth, fist of
the deathless, the one
undying tree; that profound
proverbial ‘clock out of order'!
An absence, that abscess, the fool
undressed; stopped by your thinking
uncovered as the ‘corner girl' taking a
kneel … swimming in the nights with an
abandon, know you too will pass
blinded by the wetness of so much
dining … at those "Y's"!