Once I pondered, feeling dreary, weak-kneed, and weary

Over many a scantly-clad written volume of lunacy lore

While my head bobbed back and forth, nearly snapping

Suddenly there came a pounding, screaming at my door

"Must be some unwanted visitor, " I spat and sputtered

"Not only that, but something worse and more! "

Ah, something is rotten in Denmark this bleak December morn

And hot embers found their way to my feet and curtains along the floor

Hastily, I wished for water – in pain I had sought to borrow

From the medicine cabinet for the hypochondriac – burn ointment

For my now rare toes, burning radiant, whom my guardian angel ignored

who chose to remain anonymous evermore.

And now the sad uncertain rustling of each burning curtain

Did not thrill me – filled me up with profane terrors, had felt before

And add to that, the erratic beating of my heart, I stood mumbling

"Must be some unwanted visitor scratching at my front door

Some late Halloween visitor trick-or-treating at my front door

Must get my twelve-gauge and nothing more."

At present, my soul grew weaker, running the gambit, then a little more

"Hey crazy, " I said, "or loony, your leaving my premises I implore"

But the facts are, I was nodding, and so scarily you came rapping

And so loudly you came pounding, screaming at my front door

That I crapped in my pants – I’m not opening any freaking door

Straightjacket city there, and plenty more!

Knee-deep into that darkness peering, and what seemed an eternity

I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting-Thomas, dreaming the dreams

no mortals ever scared to dream this night or ever more;

But the flatulence was unbroken, and its stillness gave a gaseous token

And the only odor was un-smelled – not silent and deadly, unlike

The schizophrenic that was trying to jimmy the lock on my front door.

Back to my chamber pot yearning, all my insides churning

Sooner than later, I heard a banging, much louder than before

"Surely, " I said, "surely there is someone at my window lattice"

Dare I go, then, who is there – will my legs move evermore?

Let my heart un-race, "be still then, " this mystery I must explore

Wait a minute, must be the wind and nothing more.

Then, with a queasy stomach to the shutter I opened

In stepped an un-stately ravin’ lunatic – from lunacy lore

Not the least bit sane was he, more than a minute stayed he

And with vein of crazy, perched above my refrigerator door

Perched upon a bunch of bananas just above my frig door

Perched, then sat, then Zen-yoga, and nothing more.

Then this loony-bird beguiling my glad fancy into crying

A look of graves and tombstones was the countenance he wore

"Thy lunacy is err apparent, " I said, "Thou art sure no sane one

Ghastly grim ravin’ lunatic wandering from the shadow’s shore

Tell me what thy ungodly name is in the night’s darkest lore"

Quoth the Ravin’ Lunatic, "Evermore! "

I did not marvel this un-saintly foul, then heard his discourse plainly

His words had definite meaning – bore much relevancy

For he kept agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was un-blest with seeing him above their refrigerator door

Loony or crazy upon a bunch of bananas above the frig door

With such a name as "Evermore."

But the ravin’ lunatic, sitting stonely on the bananas, spoke only

That one nerve-grating word, as-if his darkest soul, in that one psychotic

word did he outpour loudly, nothing more or further

Then he slovenly mimed – stuck an imaginary feather in his hair

Until I scarcely muttered, "others I have known went nuts before

Tomorrow you will leave me, as my hopes have flown the cuckoo’s nest."

Startled at the stillness unbroken by no reply, so aptly unspoken

"Doubtless, " I said, "and what isn’t uttered is your stock and trade

Caught with a straight-jacket by the funny farm, a merciful disaster

Double-time fast and followed by your humming a ding-a-ling song

Until the deepest workings of your non compos melancholy

Are silenced now and for evermore."

But, the Ravin’ Lunatic still unwinding all my hopes into unsmiling

Straight I threw a butterfly net over his head and bolted for the door

Then upon slipping on the waxed floor, I betook myself to sliding

Into lamp and chair – what must this Tom o’ Bedlam be thinking?

What this energumen, raver, madling, and neuropath of lunacy lore

Meant when he began croaking like a frog?

This I engaged in guessing as I sat in pain, four letter words I was

expressing, foul – now fiery eyes burned, my rear-end was sore

This and more I sat un-divining, with my Excedrin headache no. nine

Now sitting on cushion velvet, the batty-one gloated

The shoe was now on the other foot, the hen was in the fox house

He started laughing – quoth I, "shut-up now and for evermore! "

Then I thought as the air grew tenser, skunk-perfumed as-to un-censor

My mood swung like a hangman’s noose, my neck muscles grew tighter

"You’ve gone completely potty, " I cried, "by God you’ve really lost your

senses, what is this, a respite from your days of lunacy lore?

Cracked-brain, oh cracked-brain, you’re so unkind"

Quoth the Ravin’ Lunatic, "for evermore! "

"Harebrain! " I said, "you’re a thing with cuckoo’s wings!

Whether psych ward sent, or whether the loony wagon tossed you here

You are desolate, yet undaunted by my misfortune

At first you stalked my home, tell me truly, I implore

Is there something normal stirring in that ‘brain’ of yours? "

Quoth the Ravin’ Lunatic, "possibly, possibly! "

"Well-done! " I said, "you’re no longer a thing of preposterous

By the heavens above that try to direct us, by the God we love

Your soul is no longer in peril; it’s within normalcy’s range

It seems to have clasped compos mentis, you know, what the

sane call ‘all there’ – you’ve now just commonplace! "

Quoth the (former) Ravin’ Lunatic, "for evermore! "

'2007' RLS