Destitute Rabbits in a Cardigan Casket, Ile Fit Thee: My Mother-fucking Mutton Magic, or Many Eggs in Many Baskets, Tucked Away Again Like Bilbo in Between Some Book-ends, No Baggage

I didn't mean
To mean anything,

It's my fault I'm
Too so-so.

Give me
Pounds of suffering,

Wat?  Is this too hostile?
The journey is long,

And there's no jello,
So what, do you enlist,

Or follow the hellos?
Again the same

Existence, duplicity,
How many leagues away

And with what intensity?
Lightning strikes

Twice impossibly,
To talk philosophy,

I always meant to say
Copy me,

Come on,
Come on in and copy me.

I see some buzzards up ahead
In my coffee,

S-e-a-m-n, high art,
This is high art, post-Mephistopheles.