Ennui Sets In

"Ennui Sets In” Whenever pen is placed Between purloined phalanges, When my mind unfolds and tears along the seams, I know it’s time to move my thoughts, Through the underground; That dark crusty void Of dreary dreams diminished, Where loose hell raisers floss and shine, Comb and spray, As drowning voices backwash yesterday’s histrionics, Dark-eyed winches peek through the Centers of dead doughnuts; Bleacher seats rust and wallow In half-moon emancipation, Ennui sets in… My bow tie knows all the answers. I cry and beseech for all those tomorrows To resurrect, to pontificate, to loose The bowels of screaming sunsets, yet sutured. I flinch. I sigh. Force majeure got in the way. Polka dot panacea, Wretched weasels in the underbrush, Prufrock is the metaphor to mangle, impugn, vivify, And otherwise squeeze until the cows come home. I’m a poet without a message. My heart pumps vexations of vaseline, I am dry and empty Like the musty moans of sweet madness, Emanating elusively From the hollow of ancient days, Amidst unanswered questions, At the fork in the road, Two blocks northwest of my last dying breath, I am the last sunset! Ennui sets in. Twilight vivisection holds the door open this time. There is no respite, From Raphael’s regurgitated Renaissance. He jumps backward, Through the darkening dissonance, Dissolved, dismayed, dumbfounded. Skipper Frank lies dead in the glittering gutter. The Pancake Man melts into the waxworks. Madame Tussaud wonders why. Ennui sets in. Dead meat saliva feeding The roses of Robespierre. Little Lord Fauntleroy is mixing martinis, and A dozen dainty dames are dancing Past the midnight of my time. A blue trumpet, buzzing in the steamy shadows. Lapping corpses line the phosphoric hillsides; It’s not what it appears to be. Truth and beauty perceived in the morning mirror. Ennui sets in.