MISPLACED ENTHUSIASM
“Never do that again,” said Tonto.
The William Tell overture.
It had distressed surfaces.
I purchased it for my kitchen.
Importers of fine head cheese.
And studied Latin with the grand usher
Whose house fell to the tune.
Just wake up the demimonde,
Something will come of it.
A servant girl, a saucy sweetheart.
“Or a columbine. And it
Made her smile.” “But I usually let Pandora
Choose my music.” Is it postmodern?
Amusingly strange, comical, or clownish.
Deeming it some island
As was her “wont.”
And they din’t and they shoun’t and they couln’t.
It’s a waking nightmare out they-er.
Too many visiting hours for too much?
But a digital blind. My kidneys
Deceive me. Anyway, something is nibbling
At my conceit. I remember
That he didn’t like conceits,
In a conceited sort of way.
And he never picked up,
Which seemed par for his course.
I am neither a sailor, a cyclist, nor a golfer.