Indulge me. Humor me. Humour me.

[sanguinefroth1]

Uncork the Nebuchadnezzar nudnik.
Watch
limitless litres of
sanguine froth
flood up the shirt,
around the neck,
up the chin,
Face caked with dirt.

Listen listlessly to lolling lackadaisicality,
apathetic little louse. But
for God’s sake,
don’t get worked up.

Now comes to mind that famous maxim about
benefits found in teaching men to fish, as opposed
to simply
giving them One,
marijuana-induced vagabond boxcar rattletrap epiphanies
sailing past the Hanging Gardens across the Tao,
a world’s fair, but not fare,
beads of occurrence stretching seamlessly into the
Great Beyond pearl necklace of collective experience.
All the Truth in the world
Found
looking up
through the bottom.