Thursday, January 11, 2024

#109

 


May the Psychopomps find you on the bedpost before you lose your flavor:


Oh my dearest Elvis, 


Keeper of my youthful hopes…


       Conductor of my forefather’s souls…


I am sore and these are my afflictions:


for I have become derelict of dialect 


and feral of barrels…


I struggle to understand 


and my heart remains elusive in it’s searching…


Oh Nightjar! Oh Goat sucker! Oh New world whip-poor-will!


I can’t help it Elvis you know I can’t…


You tell can me it’s a shame how much 


pleasure I take from baseball but 


I gotta find solace somewhere…




©️Mark W. Ó Brien 

10January2024

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