Riches, Ready


Riches, Ready

Sovereigns, examine me.
Behold with extreme grace
I do with excellent countenance
countenance extreme poverty,
My stomach’s congress in exponential clamor
My bowels’ traffic in multiplied divisions;
For I have subdivided beans,
For I split tenuous celery fibers into soups.
Sweet ones, present company,
slackjawed birdy, Cappadocians,
I do indeed make do in thorough time.
By your leave, I am artisan and flop.
In pleasant ratio with excellent motion,
I do manifest grim lack thereof;
whose patronymic is oatmeal,
his Christian name, oatmeal
and for call-name, code name,
handle, hashtag, sobriquet,
and moniker hath but oatmeal.
Babies, Dears, Captains, I envision feasts,
whose nightlights perched aloft
fire up the trees without consuming.
A fortune-teller charts his round,
fool in tow. There’s the ripe bank.
There’s wine for slurping when awake.


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