Milton’s Tragedy
Possibly, Quite Mad — A Poem
Fascicle — To Bridge One To Sunday; A Doctor’s Care
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
Ravishing, so comes the naked close;
Clap me away into the madhouse — at any other time,
Most would’ve done, for what I have uttered,
Without the pretense of a godful taste.
Come bitte, oh, jaunting me — my love cannot be found therein;
Clap me away, as I strum along on my lyre; a fit retard.
Say you’ll return to me, in the few words that you left me in —
Say you’ll never return with hope to me, for disaster brims there —
Chortling, tragically gay.
Painting ol’ lally away, on the sea that I breathe,
With the Pratzen of Prussian blues; oh amidst them heavy blues! —
He must be, quite positively mad;
Or tame the heavy warlock, resting upon the Swedish debtors —
Which thence, have made me quite jolly;
Oh crikey, Moses, I’d be the better Blair,
While I am contained — you would’ve liked that,
If you cared to remain alive, and as I while away
In these tenement quarters!
BLASTERED!
I’ll say that is quite likening to Milton’s tragedy, now innit!
Full-house, and ever dapper in the woe-betiding!
Clap me away into the madhouse, and I’ll be
Quite away with it — ever thence, YOU RANDY MINISTER!
They’re only vouched, to take you some of the way.
Say this, and I’ll say that — no spite for it, except for the rolling of tides —
Say this, and I’ll remain content to its contradiction, I suppose, that is all;
That is all that is left within me now.
- [Footnote. This a mild sketching for a larger work known, as by what this Lady says, Milton’s Tragedy; purely dedicated to the sentience of being, and all the Plains and maladies that possess it. Call it madness, call it a peculiar abhorrence to the civilized life, call it pain, call it suffering, but remain to consider it. That is what I ask, any good Doctor, that I am, is what I am asking from you — Considering that and this!]
Ta-ta now.
Ever yours; The Doctor [Adams]
If you have come all the way here, go back over it, slowly, with this song I have set it to:
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WHY I RETURNED TO WRITE HERE — WHY I COULD’VE LEFT:
THE THUDDING MACHINATIONS OF THE CLOCK:
As ever — we go, Dear Reader.