Monday, March 16, 2009

An Ad for Astra

To what are we fastened, luv,
As if you didn't know?
A woolly mastodon of pain
With braces on, for show.

A dancing clam, a rhyming slug,
A logarithmic cow.
Oh, set your sights on shiny stars
By night, by God. But how?

I think not, luv. The rain it rains
On aching necks and backs.
And what will come will come. For now
You'd better not relax.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Clearly, another swan poem. Or a fried chicken poem, maybe ("necks and backs" -- yum!).