Fat man: Sing us a song!
Make it raucous and long.
Flex your feral fingers
over my base guitar.
Strum until your fingers
become bruised and numb.
As I play your instrument
with my warm, tight whole,
with my knees bent way back,
my ankles banging my bangs,
your moustache will molt
in the first heat wave.
That flesh-to-flesh thing:
we swing, we cling, we sing.
But when the duet is done,
the fun turns to fatigue.
Body parts drooping, we're
both at loose ends again.
Umbrellas turned upside down.
Where once, well-meant but hellbent
foes drilled esprit de corps...
Now, with emptied purses, they
curse that tin-can-tankerous quest.
Earth shuddered under oomph emphatic.
Pow! , the Power. Gosh!, the gush.
The rush of radiance, like sunlight.
For the love of might! The blinding sight
Of Sun: everlasting and eternal.
Of Chaos: everlasting and infernal.
The light is out now and charred bones
embrace an Eskimo Hell... and hibernation.
(nuclear winter... and all that jazz)
are chimes, or
bitter limes.
Rhymes between
free and fixed.
We are mimes.