Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

my melancholy moans and makes
a morbid meditation moribund
dreams of drab events and
drabber possibilities
every hazard and calamity
every pain and twitch noticed
and pondered and
mulled in my melancholy

my melancholy is a machine
the motor-oil is cold and slow
I beat myself with rubber bats
anything could go wrong
any part could fail
in the magnet of my melancholy
all poles are south
the compass needle simply spins
in the Northern Hemisphere

my melancholy is better than nothing
a perpetual dentist's chair
where numbness is at least
one up on pain
my melancholy doesn't ask for strain
merely endurance

good poetry... nice piece!

lots of allegoric anticeptic altruistic alliteration

love the line

I beat myself with rubber bats

and these, too

my melancholy is a machine
the motor-oil is cold and slow

and this succinct self-portrait:

I beat myself with rubber bats
anything could go wrong
any part could fail

a meteoric mouthful of munchies, mr. clay......very enjoyable

Indeed, this is a read more than oncer...
Love it, as usual
H

Um, and yes to you and to every post written in response. I felt this one...and am relating today.

feel a fear of facing future
views, vain and vacuous;
as abject absence
feigns friendship,
turning terra firma
into a
simple sinkhole?

I do.