4.24.24: Wishful thinking

Talking of Michelangelo is how 
I wish they would come and go, 
wearing frothy mustachios made
by insignificant sips of cappuccinos 
as they rage and engage in Easter
egg excavations of Sistine ceilings, 
after examining the minor merits 
of uncircumcised marbles— all 
the while wondering if the girth of 
Black granite would make for more 
impressive statues.

Talking of Michelangelo is how 
I wish they would come and go, 
instead of imposing the present 
scenario where I am a reluctant link 
connected to the inane, rust of a 
REPLY ALL chain being dragged 
along this tenth floor of The Inferno, 
a professional hell fraught with brain 
fever fanned by irate fires of removal 
requests and the stale scent of piss 
poor humor attempts.

The entire interminable thread, pulling
from the finite skein of my patience,
exposing the thin, tender rawness of 
My Last Surviving Nerve.