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Pantoum: Ever After

Updated on March 23, 2012

Ever After

I'd really make a wretched mermaid

All buoyancy long deserted

Along with common-sense and salads

To wine-cellar memories


All buoyancy long deserted

Drunkard feet leading astray

To wine-cellar memories

And come home another day


Drunkard feet leading astray,

Fugacious thoughts dispatched

And come home another day

Taut, my soul, in his hip-pocket


Fugacious thoughts dispatched

My lips have no wilderness

Taut, my soul in his hip-pocket,

A germane world does not exist


My lips have no wilderness

He, craggy features cracking, stays

A germane world does not exist

Only to have, or be possessed


He, craggy features cracking, stays

Bowling golden apples at my feet

Only to have or be possessed

With the reckless concupiscence of cats


Bowling golden apples at my feet

The bad that IS, banished

With the reckless concupiscence of cats

Or washed up coral castles


So, the bad that is banished

Along with common-sense and salads

Or washed up coral castles.

I'd really make a wretched mermaid.















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    • northweststarr profile image
      Author

      northweststarr 5 years ago from Washington State

      Max... chuckled for like... oh sheez, still chuckling. You've been holding out on me!

      Nikki: Glad you enjoyed it! Thanks for following!

    • Nikkij504gurl profile image

      Nikki Wicked 5 years ago from Louisiana

      love the word play and the set up of this. it was really creative and interesting.

    • Max Havlick profile image

      Max Havlick 5 years ago from Villa Park, Illinois

      Illusory mermaidness may entice the innocence

      of many English-speaking mammal vertebrates incensed

      at evolution's hypertrophied venture past the sands

      to walk about with legs and feet and mammillary glands,

      but mermaids in their fishtails linger wistfully off-shore,

      consigned to swim within the sea entrapped forevermore,

      consigned, as mythical, to wonder what it's like to feel

      the human woman's innate thrill of being something real,

      to roam about at will, to learn the world, to pick and choose

      which man's hip-pocket to enjoy, endure, and disabuse,

      while free to learn the maintenance of soul and common sense

      sufficient to transcend the pitiless concupiscence.

      I've heard of many mermaids wishing they were not so free,

      but only human mermaids put such thoughts in poetry.

      "Mermaids," an American sonnet by Max Havlick for his friend Northwest Starr, all rights reserved.