BREAKFAST AT CAESER'S
The brains of all the universe
hide in the waste and cold of dark
where thought can never make them worse
and where they'll never leave their mark
and never more take charge of man
more than one time since time began.
What follie's layed into your mind
where kith is lost and dire in need
as unborned failed to even find
the spark of life on which to feed?
Is being dumb come to be sin
and so is cut the line that's thin?
Dine on brahkwurst if you need fat
but Caeser feels the constant need
to have His pasta long and flat
and sprinkled with pure mustard seed.
And in your colon it may spread
and freshen all that's in your head.
Ah! Those are but the birds and bees!
As welcomed as the day grows near,
refreshing as an April breeze
if it's the northern hemisphere,
All time stands still until the tune
Jesus is here, or coming soon.
There's many slip twixt now and then
and Caesers head is stamped on gold,
he's gone to Palistine again
to get away from damp and mold;
and waste is waste upon the floor
though left by one we'd all adore.
If thought's upon your suicide
in hope's the afterlife's more fun
your disapointment can not hide
no matter where your soul might run.
And Caeser has his breakfast here
two poached in hot Italian beer.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet