Melancholy Misery has
Fallen down drunk again
After his latest adventure
With dear Futility.
Every posture Misery keeps
Has betrayed its owner
His sanctifying solaces,
Taking away from him
Any semblance of sanity
And leaving only there
The pestilent discourses of
Pandora’s opened box.
He disembarks in alleyways
After every mile to
Urinate and disseminate
His intoxicate truths,
Never bothering to wonder
What threshold he defiles.
Oh Melancholy Misery,
Are you returning soon
To incorporated daily
Non-life?  Suburbia?
Brandishing your naked weapon,
Polishing your hub cap,
Preparing it for Toupeeville,
Showing your manliness
With festooned family sedans
And a station wagon
With telltale bumper stickering
And plastic baby seats?
You still mangle Toreador
At lungs’ capacity
Fully knowledgeable that those
Are the incorrect words,
Simply because adrenaline
Comes easier that way.
Operatic tenors could not
Best you in arias
Based upon emotion alone
And ignoring the words.
Melancholy Misery lives
Wallowing in himself,
Orchestrating processionals
For his entourage to
Mourn his incessant deceasings
With gleeful giddiness.
That melancholy Misery,
However did we live
Without the magnificent him
Corrupting all our lives?