bassoon

Theatrics in a suburban home
wonder of amazement the children's gold
he swash buckles until is told off to bed
and the mommy and daddy can pro amend

this is what you get from me
a  little chuckle, a fruitful grin
don't leave now it may get good
or fall into the bassoon, a player baffoon

the prince speaks to his maiden
approaching the hillside on steed
he asks for her hand, she pleads
the prince, dead at 23

the Jekyll, the two face, the hidden Hyde
rids himself of all those deemed define
he hides in the mountains, no soul left to spare
til one day he closes his eyes and an over-man is there

"have you brought me great fortune or pittance dear sir?"
"I bring you all the best you've been ridding yourself from, the booze, the women, the late nights!"
"I came here to do away with those, my friend. Just leave a tart in front of my bed."
"Don't you see it's time for fruition."

The two face looks at him
HA!
only 300 pages left of this monstrosity.
But why stop there, the maniac cackled.

I could write a million pages if I could and each being every so mindful as the first million.
The daemon has to let me write what I can and enjoy the rest of my well-being
words, a world of words, if only we could speak
writing to yourself is like casting a spell on your self with pestle and mortar

first the night root, then the sulfurous ash finally add the wandering pumice
there's a cocktail right there, they serve it at the green smoothie bar, or should be at least

now let me slumber so I can digest my wordplay

tata
for now

Gg