TRUCKS AND BUTTONS
Clean chestnuts in the ghost of a pulse:
It's a first-place finish, the bomb,
and pathological in the absolute.
A felonious skiff and no difference between them.
A top-flight calculator under the couch,
bat-cracking, snide, and shapely.
A glass of water at evening, which is recovered by now,
but no memory of what an infandibulum is.
Perhaps, and this is a bit iffy now, but perhaps
a Greek sponge could be lobbed off the quay.
Can this be more completely egregious? Then you can
stuff that ersatz sponge into this cosmic conch.
It's gettin' so near to quittin' time, but we're not even near done.
We like the thought of it, though: Paracelsus with a conch and sponge.
To tell the truth, every so often you can find us trying to remember
who Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim was.
We think he's a philosopher
but he always winds up an alchemist.