The Memoir for Youth

Flipper the dipper wears his bags as his eyes do He wears his jumpers like his arms did
He wears his lemons on the back of his cherished palms, on top of his waterlogged eyebrows
He doesn’t concern himself with the outer-limit kings
Or the beaters of busses
Or the wishful thinkers
Or the lustful beachbums
Or the stationary gun log sitters
Or the breastfed cheeseheads
Or the wasting reachers, reaching for the out-of-date can of dissolved cough suppressants
Or the ringbearers of the cross

Or maybe he should


But for now he doesn’t
Open the cave
It’s time for the reflux…
…of the empathy’s deluxe melody