At 80 years old—he was a madman
jolly—and full of his own self-belief
the milk of Santa Clause.
It took 50 years
to become totally insane
because, any righteous madness
the righteous, live by their own decisions
it makes them able to be who they are
“Abandon all hope, yee scurvy dogs!” Are the words of the scurvy brain
And for some reason, there is hope, in total surrender to death
a life that’s measured—is one, that must weigh something
it’s not the feathers, in a feather bed
because the madman set fire to his comfort—years ago
He reads his own newspaper
a-top the coldest mountain
Why go to where it’s impossible to live?
living, makes us old
“I don’t want to grow old!” Said the 80-year-old man to his father
“You are prideful!”
“What should we do today?” Asked the 80-year-old man to his father
“I need to pick the lint from between my toes, and then Suzie is going to give me a rub-down and rotate me.”
the madman prayed for death,
while his father was clinging to life—unable to live
What can we do for eternity?
What can we do now?