The Arch-archbishop of my It-ness
flowed out through my nose and rose
today to see if I’d the fitness to be free.
Interrogatively he besieged me – then
decreed that I had never grasped
inconstancy and therefore had a row
to hoe to which I’d better soon apply
myself if I still wanted to get through
and out from under all the vastness
that would ever more exasperatingly
increase and cause to cease my
pertinent capacities. Oh, for release!,
he sighed, as he reminded me to sign
another lease to rent more breath –
in whose dark pages he however had
neglected to say how much I had left.
.
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