In spite of my physi­cian,
Who in con­stant admo­ni­tion,
Says my heart will palpil­tate
And my blood coag­u­late
In a dirge of caffien­ated demo­li­tion;

Make my hands to vac­il­late,
My car­nate temple des­e­crate,
Be my ter­minal undoing,
Each fell sip my ruin brewing,
To addle, muddle, and intox­i­cate.

Fuck, I say sin­cerely,
I live thus cav­a­lierly,
If my organs burst asunder,
Then chas­tise me, Quack, and thunder,
It was meet and just to urge you so severely!

But until my urn is packed,
In a colum­bary stacked,
Until it is too late to bear regret,
O’er her caustic coquetry I will not fret,
And dally on, her bitter vices to extract.

Glory, laud, her rich extrac­tion
Ripe with chem­ical reac­tion,
Vis­cous jet of ink descending,
Sweet insom­no­lency vending,
An uncouth and irre­sistable attrac­tion.

If life afforded slumber,
Every moment not encumber
With a pace that ever quickens,
And a lethargy that thickens,
My limbs like lazing lumber.

If the rushing, blur­ring vision,
An obscene cosmic mis­pri­sion,
Might ebb away, stand still,
Grant me calm amidst the shrill,
I’d not need her keen and puis­sant pro­vi­sion.

Sultry siren, how you rouse me,
Waxen and acerbic ebon sea!
So beset­tingly I lust
For each neuron-sparking thrust,
Your astrin­gently licen­tious guar­antee.

We use cookies. By browsing our site you agree to our use of cookies.Accept