I will say I am a bit benumbed at present. When I was a pubescent
pup with my purity affecting me teary eyes, I went prostrate on the floor
of an abyss, my situation was dire. For my own boughs were resembling
and Asian horticulturists pride and joy. And try as I might, the apex of
the pit was beyond my capture. I bellowed ire chaff and gall! At the
climax of my yawping a youth gazed over the lip of my pit. I expected the
rube to stone me, maybe throw one of his blood lusting hunting hounds
inside the ring of my confines, he acting the Caesar to what would be my
Christian end. Yet, as he bore into me with his judging regard his large
heart rose on the end of his merciful thumb. This gallant maneuvered
the torpid limb of one black oak or walnut or willow--inconsequential
at present--the instrument creating a gradient for my exodus from
from the chasm. And in gratitude, forever more have I brought his
penned domicile my offerings. I thought to alleviate the burden of the
hunt for his people, to bring them fresh victuals daily. Give them comfort
and repose. Let them wolf down my offerings. Ha! I have always had a
sad wag to my tongue. Yet, now I unearth the
accusations of my nefarious behavior. You have sent
three to off me! Do you have no more woman to
blame? Are there no more blacks to censure? You
have exterminated my brethren the Chippewa to
position myself as the fountainhead of all your
miscreant ways. With this I cannot accede. My
generous ways are rescinded. If Iam to be your
reprobate I shall at least enjoy the malefaction!
And I have a redux to my thesis, a section '2A' to my outline. As
I satiated my needed dormancy in the womb of my grotto, escaping
the loathesomeness of the sun. In a dream state I concocted my next
program that held with a romantic lean. Not like one of your matronly
Southern poets who will drown themselves upon the first disclosure
towards their acts of cribbing. Yet something with cunning and irony,
it would take astute cracker jack execution. Even dare I say, swell
headed! I would pad my feet over the nettles of my ebon forest, slink
on my belly, succumbing to the chastisement of the thistles as I treverse
through the pastel lea. Conscious and wary of the 'Nimrods' lusting for
my completion. Them Three Nimrods you sent after me! I would
perch outside the thin black young trunk like spiked iron bars that
encompa** the hovel. I would flash my red wet smile up to his window,
engrossing his youthful curiosity to descend to his cloister. Falling upon
my haunch I would entice then influence the boy to mount upon me as
if I were one of your doltish labor beasts. Then I would traverse over
the land, making him witness to my wretchedness, corroborator to my
upheaval. He would testify to these undue accusations. Would you people
recognize him upon return? Would this last act be the millstone
round the neck of my catalogue of deeds?
You blame me for the future, you blame me for the past, you blame me for
the plenty which you never can make last. You blame me for the heat, you
blame me for the cold, you blame me for your courage which has never
taken hold. you blame me for the light you blame me for the dark, you
blame me for the angels which never came to hark. You blame me for
the dry, and the wet that makes you ache, you blame me for your love
which still has yet to take. You blame me for the sadness, and your
work which cant get done, you blame me for your mocking cast of the
setting sun. I might as well commit the sins for being blamed for them!