Grape Grope Gripe

Charlie's apish arms unbidden
confirm the everpresent absence
which is his morning bed.

'Gainst this most maddening,
helpless habit he rashly chafes-
for it gives his much-wrenched guts
a sickly twist and this
before the sun's burnt
the sea-mist off the Mount.

His winey brain abed, aghast,
begins the painful game
of oughts and shoulds
while his tripped-up tongue
licks at the sick-tooth's stub
where, but two timid weeks gone by,
his crooked smile did dare to flash.

Rising rickety to greet the fogs,
drink coffee, smoke and
walk the 'maginary dog,
blinking half-blindly
does his auto-flagellance awake-

" Defy the whirled
uncertainty of sought approval,
muster up the stones,
allow yourself to be agog,
abide the original,
unrestrained intensity-
set off, leap, unlooking
to where the rusted
compass needles points,
offer up the very gristle
of those jacked-up joints,
the content of your
dream-drunk eyes, once pearls..."

Of love unchecked,
or lust or magnetism,
a lame and over-rhymey litany
does Charlie, in review, decide,
running an exploratory finger
over scars which decorate
his oft overextended neck.