In brief, I love you.
In chief, I love you.
Your serf, dear lady,
in fief, I love you.
To cry out boldly —
relief. I love you!
Ignored once more, then,
in grief, I love you.
It's what you’re good for:
mischief — I love you.
Bill, tells her off-ish —
You thief, I love you.
AMONG THE BLESSED
Blessed are the forgetful: for they shall have done with their stupidities too.
-- Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, #217, (R.J. Hollingdale, trans.)
Obsessed with my stupidities, I’ll never be among the blessed.
I’m the last one anyone expects to see among the blessed.
And who lived a guilt free life, such that to dwell in memory is bliss?
Only the forgetful, though they walk blind, walk free among the blessed.
While clinging self-recrimination is a Buddhist sort of sin,
the real sin is to blind the eyes with faith, to flee among the blessed.
The crooked angel stands at heaven’s gate, charged to keep me out;
he fears I’ll bite the saints’ behinds and be a flea among the blessed.
Bill, expect to see the world grown warm, with sterile, acid seas;
search high, search low, but don't expect that you’ll find me among the blessed.
WILLIAM DENNIS has published prose and verse in a variety of (vanishingly) small magazines, but in recent years the largest part of his work has gone to the on-line site, The Last Resort Gallery.