Mushrooms, Splinters, and Thorns

Inept -Theater of the Absurd

Inept

My billet could be my undoing;
me, a hunchback with Bacchic joviality,
trespassing on holy men’s grounds,
and my phrases in mass migration
escape through slits in hordes.

Still, I walk
on stilts of baffling words
to reach out to scrub the sun
as if from the tower of Babel,
for I crave to bate the mad muse
who hides in the bedlam
and lies on lines of unruly sheets,
refusing non-chalant to give me hint..