|Jan/Feb 2018 Humor/Satire|
Textile Photo Art by Jeffrey Trespel
Port Man Toe
He took to making up the words
and stringing them like garlands,
—monikernels of lexicorn, meanderloads of glossipedes—
felt cool frisson in warring sounds,
—teutongitude meets latin-tude in maledictionary—
withstood bleeding guardian serpents of spell-check,
knowing language likes to sleep around
but may not stay for breakfast.
—impolite friction, despairachute—
So [sic] at heart was he,
he took his vorpal pistol and
lewiscarrolled himself to
Thinking is hard work
which is why the position
goes often unfilled.
Inside a coffin
soft pads and velvet pillows
Be yourself, they say,
but phoniness and pretense
might be the real you.
No man's an island
but the coast is long if you're
A house collects joy—
some bring joy by entering,
some just by leaving.