Banana Fever

To empathize without restraint is strangely suicidal, you rambling fools content to write yourselves another Bible have traveled long to Lisa’s whore to drink the never-ending, but you’ll be delayed in yards to wait for merchants ever-spending. Here to sit and grit the worst of epitaphs and cliches “It’s all been said”. “Pass the pipe”. “Would you buy a crab from me, please”? Then as sure as Magdallene they’ll want to know the reason why one so young and atrophied should tamper with such treasons. You’ll reply with tongue of fire, that there are things along the way one must get straight before the flood before the Day of Days. Your forehead gnaws, you raise yourself,you rush into the street- a woman passing by in rags flashes attention to your feet. “Wash not these feet with your hair of straw, I’ll need them along the way”. “You poets are alike somehow- trying to die for love or hate, but your pompous ass will die in vain, they’ll carry you to your grave they’ll mumble words and epitaphs that you’ll know are just more cliches”. Her cup of angst will outlast love Though gorged to the brim with flesh. You’ll reply to the rest of the group that your exit is clear of regret. You’ll brace yourself with dove at temple, scream as if for rain, “To die for death, now there’s a fate! It’s all been said can’t touch or name”!A bit of reflection on Salinger's Seymour Glass. Written December 17th, 2001 © on Dec 22 2001 04:08 AM PST   18 • 0 • 10