I like the word "beastie," it sounds cute, it sounds Scottish. I'm thinking like 'Scotty' on 'Star Trek' would say, the immortal James Doohan, who I would have figured for a Scotsman, but a Canadian was he, and a good life lived.
On at least one episode of Star Trek he evinced a liking for 'Saurian brandy,' and 'tis certain sure that a stout beverage it would be. While back in the real world, ol' Jimmy boy stormed Juno Beach, Normandy, on D-day, then that very following night a scared Canadian machine-gunner let loose as our intrepid James made his rounds, hitting him six times with "friendly fire" (now how tough would that have been, to swallow as a metaphor at the time?). Improbable after that that life remained, middle finger, right hand, later had to be amputated, plus four shots to a leg, well now that would be thought to be well-nigh fatal, but no, and one in the chest besides, where a silver cigarette case preserved our man's life.
I keep on sending tendentious rhymes out
like some demented machine gunner.
Sometimes I aim high, Pulitzer, no doubt!
Lucky to hit a page with a number.
It just doesn't matter I always say.
It's just a form of my daily yoga.
Done without ego each and every day.
In the long run it will surely serve ya.
But still I do unwillingly admit
as I keep my finger on the trigger
that it wouldn't hurt to receive a gift
of thanks from someone's satisfied hunger.
So I just keep gatlinging out my rhymes,
hoping not to do time for all my crimes.