Hyperbolic Quasi Autobiographical Prevarication
Hyperbolic quasi autobiographical prevarication...
caricature sketch of person best known to yours truly
What began as an honest
to goodness attempt
to craft personal truthful profile
evolved into a fictional poem
manifested into the following.
Despite the onslaught of paparazzi,
I (an eccentric kindhearted sexagenarian -
born January xiii, mcmlix
at The Christ Hospital
within Mount Auburn, Ohio)
instantaneously shied, blinked away
from the spot (klieg) lights,
and avoided crowdsource
most of my iv and lx orbitz
round the earth mainly on account
of being gifted with introvertedness
somewhat minimized by bottle fed
powder milk then subsequently
licking, gnawing (actually gumming),
and chomping on biscuits,
which magical and top secret ingredients
(heavily guarded courtesy
Norwegian bachelor farmers)
gave this once painfully shy person
indomitable, formidable,
and creditable courage
to face fearful fixes
such as getting up out of bed
first thing in the morning
and crafting a poem..
Posthumous fame and fortune
will launch then rocket
one veritable unknown
aspiring, inspiring, outgoing
and unflagging wordsmith
(legend in his own mind)
unwittingly slated to shunt
next of kin into the pantheon
of storied poets even feeble attempts
at his mediocre reasonable rhymes
feebly attempting to communicate
a not so stellar existence punctuating
(while dragon coccygeal tailbone pronounced
along the boulevard of broken dreams),
a battle of life waged
against being trumpeted
as some freak of nature
(a controversial incontrovertible
standard compact prodigal son)
birthed courtesy éminence grise
famous prolific father,
who begat him -
unnamed de jure heir
to the family fortune/empire -
longevity of libido potion,
when said parent a centenarian
far beyond (where's the beef)
viz chronological virility age
severely testing scant minority,
when seething hormonal fluid
loosed into chamber of secretes
(think fecund female) and pushing
biological envelope in situ regarding
outer limits when males can still procreate
versus majority doddering, hobbling,
and lobbying along lovely bones,
when their get up and go got up and went
into those twilight zone of years.
Invariably many an older gent
sought to lay claim as doppelgänger
of humble fellow, whose countless progeny
incorporated a zip code unto themselves,
and for an unnamed dollar figure
(one comprising many zeros and commas)
small dollop would be sold to highest bidder.
Meanwhile, or until
that futuristic manifest destiny
I currently sequester myself within
cupboard workspace
within one bedroom man cave
labeled b44 as flickering candlelight
casts dark shadows across the outer limits
of the twilight zone
soon to silently pronounce
the figurative curtain call
on another mundane day,
no different than previous,
nor promising variation
on a theme of ennui
(self quarantine against 10000 maniacs)
following twenty four hour time frame
witnessed by mine feeble scratchings
across the rocky surface doing double duty
as crude table and writing surface
since yours truly lacks
for paper pencil or electronic device.
Lack of formal education
found me forced to teach yours truly
reading, writing, and arithmetic
while I hibernate until the conclusion
of total mortal kombat
allows, enables, and provides me
chance close encounters of the third kind
ideally to be fruitful and multiply
amidst dystopian landscape.
Copyright ©
Matthew Harris
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