I exhale only air
inhaled where...? Dans la mer.
Plus I bottle clean water in Perth.
Many foods I consume
Many foods I consume
only bloom in Khartoum.
(Oh, if only I'd known this from birth.)
I've had, yes, some success
with this old apple press.
It provides me my cider and
sauce.
Plus these ground peas I find
former slaves left behind.
(Leaves me numb stuff I stumble
across.)
Sip my seashore tureen
made with seaweed I glean.
(I make salt by the seashore as well.)
And, like Winnie-the-Pooh,
I crave honey. (Don't you...?)
It's a fondness I don't care to quell.
The mere smell of a rose
casts a spell o'er my nose,
as do odors of clovers and lilies.
Likewise, jasmine and pine
are great fav'rites of mine.
(Scent of feet tends to mete out the willies.)
Full, I urinate south
of the Amazon's mouth,
so to irrigate forest and flora.
Deeply buried my shit be
outside Chloride City.
(I can't seem to locate Gomorrah.)
Ev'ry nighttime I sleep
a full eight -- soundly, deep:
nine's too many but seven's too few.
Sure, I wish I slept more;
waking life's such a chore.
How to do so I haven't a clew.
All the clothing I sport's
sewn from milk cartons (quarts),
supplemented by trips to Goodwill.
I refuse to wear shoes,
much preferring to choose,
dusk till dawn, to sit, yawning but still.
If unable to find
a dry cave of some kind,
then I dwell in a shelter of hay.
Or, like Disney's Three Pigs,
I use twigs to build digs.
(Sadly, neither keep grey wolves at bay.)
(a work in progress)
