Trashcan Soul

A jerk, an earnest tug, it should suffice

To extirpate the agonizing limb;

To hoist away, distend the tuber, trice;

To scrape the feckless organ to waste bin.

.

For sterile is its use, and gone, its worth,

Its weeping and bemoaning, vanity,

That cries for absent repast and false girth

And, never pregnant, scampers, no esprit.

.

Like fussy child repining, be the lark,

The ardor of the branch it loves to mime,

The hexed throb, analogy. An arc

of circuit that does ending never find.

.

A parody unsullied thus, allure–

Were not my soul entrenched with its manure!

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s