11/22
Sonnets From Other Lives: Henry

Henry misses melancholia—
all the maladies of unbalanced humors.
Now the dark within him’s only a
pharmaceutically corrected rumor.
Perhaps a bit of bleeding would suffice—
a razor blade--a warm soak in the tub—
a cocktail—whiskey, seconal & ice
Eternity. Yes & there’s the rub--
He knows it’s all romantic falderol.
He’s riffing on bare bodkins, all the while
he might as well be posing with a skull.
He’s always had a certain sense of style.
He pours a drink & smiles sardonically.
Anything worth watching on T.V.?