1900
I don’t know where I am or how I got here
But I fear I now have Alzheimer’s.
Was it the bandoliers of beers I wear
or is my time simply near?
Still, I’ll probably feel a little more clear with wine
And oaken soak in my belly
And no one dare tell me
Differently.
I am ill,
bent up, and I spent too much
Last night
With forgotten delight
On distorted bets
That I now
foggily regret,
My mind-boggingly swinetastic actions
Caused confused reactions and
Might have cost me my last abstract transaction.
I couldn’t help but let my snootstatic-erratic Tapiric
friend out from the zoo.
With a little lockpicking voodoo
my very weird dancing Tapir tattoo
Came too true,
The fright on their blurry faces
From my slurry wordy embraces
And the Tapir’s nostril kisses
Was a moment of pure obscure bliss.
Only for me, as the people struggled to understand
Why a South American frustrated Ungulate
Was my best mate, out staggering on the streets.
The Tapir and I’s night made my life finally feel complete,
This peaceful perisso-dactish sort
even got me something of a bucket for when I chucked up,
either that or it was a cart or carriage
From somewhere. Someone.
I couldn’t manage
what was still in there.
I think I will call this Tapir,
Sir Turducken
After my one true love,
Early Thanksgiving,
Even the thought gives me cravings
For a bit of a feast,
Am I a mental tryptophan beast?!
My night’s motivation fits like a glove,
Sitting above the sewers
With skewers of matter
of something good for all of us, I swear...
I will tell people the Tapir disappeared.
Please ignore the meat scraps in my beard…
Are my eyes open or
are they closed?!
I am pretty sure, nobody knows.
Going to sit here, root and grow
Until the cold dew of this bench awakens me,
And I have to face my own screwed stew of new reality.
