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The Metrognome*
27 September 1941
Once, when traveling, I came Upon a shrine of primal shame Now desolate and lost in sump; Sitting me upon the stump Of the tree of life I thought Back upon the knowledge sought By Eve, when she was in her prime, Slither tracks across the slime March by a bore, the earthworm’s door, Where lay a molding apple core.
Humming faintly to a rune, Some call it dun, some call it dune, While munching steaks of Devon shark I chipped the log of Noah’s Ark Until I came to where it said wish that I had never read Those books that Daddy used to keep Well locked within the ocean deep.” By which I knew, it must be true, The hair of Davy Jones is blue.
Materializing where he stood Above a pot of rancid blood A friendly ghoulie took a seat, And pounded it beneath his feet To see if it would break in two; It did, and so he found a new One. “Good Morning,” said he, “Mister, Who was that you were with yester Day night.” On clicked my nimbus bright And I reached out to take a bite.
Addressing half the varied throng, I told the tail I tell; “Too long, Mr Fiends, said I with much delight, time has come, the time is right” And left they marched along the shore In search of that which went before While aft the bow was going down To where most things of that sort drown Their troubles here in, “Thanks old deer, If you are thirsty, there’s the bier.”
* One what keeps time, literally.—777
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