"Until Death Do I Part"
The amount of pumps thrust on your toilet plunger is a number of years you will live.
Balls get squeezed and breasts twisted until you die.
I'm fifty thousand books, ten thousand poems old.
About a million meals, seventy thousand hours of sleep, and seventy months awake.
I will always be younger then you are.
That's twenty five days and three light years of tomorrow today.
Old treasure, and new pleasure.
Walking in Golden Gate Park, at my leisure, tickles me pinkish green.
I am part of the hippy scene.
Roll over red rover, I dance around in clover.
An impish dybbuk causes me all kinds of problems.
It sneaks in, while I'm sleeping in bed and takes my time away.
The things I own are my possessions and poems.
These will be taken from me forever.
Whenever the mischievous space imp decides.
The world's words will repeat themselves.
In their own foolish ways.
Jon Billet Redone 12/31/15
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