reneejacov

Dependency, Like a hungry babe suckles for its mother's teat, Or the moon, which sanctions the stir of Poseidon's waters, Has its clutch on the soul of man, God's most enfeebled work. For man, in himself, is ceaseless reliant On the association with fellow mind and make. Whether it charges the spirit in ardour extended, Or strikes, a bolt of sheer belittlement, crushing the core - conductive. He will endlessly wander, seeking the warmth of connection, With instinctual vehemence and sagacity omit, For there is nothing but the need.

The yearnings of an infatuated heart, With ardour returned a point perplexed. Clenches the bosom, this cruel black art. Elicits detriment in bitter excess. Angelic aches form hellish confines. Their infernal essence leads astray The saneness of man that surely declines To scourge at the soul and mettle betray. With dote unrequited, beatific yens wax Yet crumble buoyancy upon each fresh cross. Immersed in nihility, musings morph black To deadpan convictions, dignity to dross.

What is your name? The lady said It is Hank, I live in a shed It is all in your head, the lady said That is no shed, but a loaf of bread Heartbroken, Hank stood back and cried How cruel is life? It spits and it lies Depressed, Hank stared at his finger-shaped fries And with a woeful cry, began to pluck out his eyes He picked at those sockets for many days more and placed his eyeballs into a drawer Whenever he cried, he would keep score And then hurl himself at the kitchen door 'I AM A MASOCHIST, SEE MY PAIN!' Hank would declare in the pouring rain Dancing and prancing with a wooden cane Hank's life was ended by a leaking brain