Fathom I can’t of leaving you.
Must I this time,
learning with feeble lessons,
it was bad all those other times,
which were plainly other times.
I am not sure what I have in my hand:

A hatchet, a club, or a long-winded sentiment.

I am overly prepared yet utterly irresponsible.
To recite to you a lyric: O cherry blossom
and O are you a male concubine?
I like that image. Or the narrative:
The tiger was stuck up a Banyan tree
and glanced knowingly at me while you
visited me last afternoon.

I announced gleefully to him to flee
so that I could have a boarder.
I said I am two steps ahead of you mister!

I write a lengthy essay on enormity
in popular culture, in art and in big business,
how it can crush me into bits how everything can.

Let me go of you
so you can be famous, strong, and wondrous
without any stumbling around.

To your highest of
elevations.

Since I fail to perceive most of the show
I only place bets from the headquarters, sight unseen.