xing


do you mind if we have a talk? said i
but i talk to myself all the time, i said

then why don’t you turn it into rhyme? said i

do you think? i said
why not? said i

we could eat your words out of a cannibal pie
to say things you don’t mean
and never know why
methinks you might fancy to lie, said i

but whatever might you imply, i said
i could never lie to myself and even
if i dare to believe it, you know what then?
i’d satirize myself to death

said i, we’d see your words through your mind’s eye,
stitch them together with tendons and tie
them to things that may seem
a bit more cerebral
and outwit those wry,
irrational people!

but i’ve got nothing good to say, i said
then this is your lucky day, said i

said i, a stitch in time saves nine
but a stitch in me saves none, i said
said i, mending is better than ending
there’s no use pretending, i said, you’re forgetting

i’m a broken man
of the stretching and bending
that rhymers and writers demand
of the truth

said i, it’s youth
that attends your intending
to live the honest lie
and coax slips of tongue,
so live while you’re young!

i said, not before
the fat lady has sung
said i,
she’s among

the believers that there are no new paths to tread,
there are no new answers to be questioned,
and to think you should say what’s already been said,
to respect that in which you are vested!

how trite, i said
it’s quite, said i
then why write? i said
out of spite, said i

i hate this, i said
you’re hopeless, said i
i can’t fake this, i said
you’re bogus, said i

i won’t talk about me any longer, i said
i won’t spit out the rhyme of a monger, i said
i don’t fancy my saying these things til i die--

i don’t fancy you either, said i.




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