Twiced Keats And None The Better
I have lived two of Keats lives
And have yet to write anything but cheese
Like this my trivial Ode To A Sneeze
Stompin through a forest
Coatless I almost froze
I saw two creatures in the leaves
Wearing no clothes
One me. The other my nose.
Cut from my body
This hawk beak I loathed
I knew sadness no longer
Bye bye middle face toad
A Gogolian severance
I hoped not a dream
So long to the explosions
The never ending phlegm stream.
Drunk I awoke in W.C. Fields
Felt my huge schnoz
And the suffering it yields
Oh go away bulbous ruin
Karl Malden is dead
Haven’t you heard
My face is cottage cheese
And you a large curd.
Ooops. I feel a little tickle
Up there inside
Where an evil tiny man with a feather
Doth hide.
Like the cuckoo clock bird
He’s getting ready to strike
“Three points off the lee bow, Sir
She’s About To Blow!”
Too late to prepare for the
Inevitable heave
A glob of goo now inhabites my sleeve.
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