Earl Nobody

Winter 2025 | Poetry

Three Poems

*Happy Hereday–

 

–because you’re nowhere else,

So quit asking questions–

How do you know?

You am, therefore ye are

Here.

 

Today.

X marks the spot upon awakening,

Pours your liquid sleep self

Into the morning mold,

There to harden for another Now.

 

You have been blessed

Once more, once more

To stir from abstraction

& walk through that door–

Where stands:

The clock, the glass, the pen,

The moment to begin again,

A moving meditation,

Rawborn as the one what flung ya,

Hollering halleluia, I am here!

 

This is the dei the Dog hath maimed.

Lettuce rejoice! Be gladddd!*

 


 

*Four Meaning Five–

 

–when, if I’m being honest:

It’s really prolly closer to Six.

That’s drunkard’s math for you–

Since Seven ate Nine,

Serving something salty

To keep the thirst stoked.

 

Admittance is no quittance.

Even owning up to it is only a beginning.

Speaking of problems,

Re: My having One–

That which leads to Legion.

 

The counting is all,

A commencement of days

In inverse proportion to the reduction of drams

Amounting to an increase in Earl:

Father, brother, husband, son,

Former failure fallen from the Water Wagon

Only to get up again

A song of Sixpence in his soul.*

*Lookaway–

 

–avert thine eyen.

I’ve already gone & gouged out mine.

No glancing backward for this boy,

Only blindness brings me joy.

For Paul from Saul, I truly see

What Hell this Earth will truly be

If Kingdom Come doth come again

& we the Debbil let him in.

 

Too late, the door was left ajar

Despite a handpicked Border Czar.

Because the threat was not some Other.

Twas me, my sister, & my brother.

“The call is coming from inside!”

Where we no more ourselves may hide,

Since even blind ourselves we spy

Trading our Troth for their Big Lie.

Forsooth it suits our sinsick souls

To bury heads in ostrich holes.

 

Awake me when the war is ended.

Forsake ye thoughts that all is mended.

Plain truth be told we’re fully fucked.

Old mankind’s goose is duly cooked.

The Cavalry it ain’t a-coming.

That Fat Lady starts her humming.

Any second now she’ll sing

How we extinguished Freedom’s Ring.*

Earl Nobdy lives and writes in Exile, NJ.

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