I told you back then—play
This muse for a sucker once
Too often and you’ll find me
Doing—with a new twist—
That old song and dance you
Thought you knew the motions to
All too well, the beguine that begins
I should have known better With a girl like you, That I would love Everything that you do And I do, hey, hey, hey, And I do. . . . . . . . . .
You say you got the hots for me
Still but with all your screwing
Up, your never-ending Hoochie-
Coochie with you, you, you--
Hey, hey, hey, guess what
Doggerel licker, no longer
Do I for you.
Who says even sleeping Men are doing the world’s Business and helping it On its way though he also adroitly Avoids mentioning they should not be As sleepwalkers perambulating out there In broad daylight trying to show us The right and true way.
Someone writes And shows you how To say what you’ve been Wanting in in every way; Try though you may, you will Never find the words To thank him—it’s as if He’s your other self now Lost in packing up those words That always want to get away.
Moderator’s comments: The apotheosis of the absurd in only eleven words; however, what remains of my frazzled logic impels me to peg the odds at 99-1 that prior to writing this “exercise in futility,” Cinquor envisaged the specter of the great Archimedes (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archimedes) uttering his famous last words “Do not disturb my circles” just before an enraged, mathematically ignorant Roman soldier “put him in a pine box” for what he thought was insubordination when, in reality, all the good mathematician had in mind was to continue his line of thought undisturbed, outside the box!