the Cortex is Developed
A poem (dedicated to Alessandra Nielsen)
It’s Daystar here—the Petrarch of United
States with poem new for my sweetheart
And even though my Love is unrequited
Post-multi-tenner rhyming textual art
It is incumbent on me, as benighted
Troubadour, (who’d quit, if he was smart)
To festivate a dame’s becoming older
In eye of Otto Riva form’s beholder
You see: I have a mission. Twenty years
From now my niece beloved meets this age
The same as Alessandra’s; and her tears
I must preclude by putting on this page
A verse annually; and when her peers
Remind her loss of eggs, it might assuage
Her from committing selfie myrderation
Since uncle had a Name Day aspiration
Yet, every woman’s worth a natal lyric
When I make one for Ali, it’s for all
The girls who birthday sorrow, as a Pyrrhic
Victory. In place of alcohol
I write these songs as joins my hemispheric
Regions-brain which hopefully install
A greater skill, when next year I compose
A poly-stanza gift that ousts a Rose
This girl named Ali always has me jolly
The trait I like the most is her perversion
She seems to make an art of all her folly
While rarely pointing blame or cast aspersion
She’s like the masturbators’ Salvor Dali
With face resembling an actress Persian
So why not send her party bardo scratch
On day ejaculated mummy’s snatch?!
A woman’s age… a man should never ask
Or once that was the bygone common practice
She’d like to tear her skin off and a mask
Replace with dermis that’s become like cactus
If only she had not in sun too bask’d
Then Father Time would sooner not contact us
A woman’s hell is very late adulthood
To save her soul: write poems like good boys should!
I’d like that by six decades penning rhyme
On anniversary of One I’ve chosen
All girls would jump from bed at yearly time
Her mother calls, compels her, “Get Eggs Frozen!—”
Exclaim with gladness, “Birthdays are SUBLIME!”
And celebrate maturity’s ambrosian
Slow passage round the sun which makes her merry
Reminding softly: Time is arbitrary
Yet, back to Alessandra. This really was
The worst year of my life. I’ll tell you why—
I’ve never loved so much a woman’s flaws
And mostly, priorly I’ve been too shy
To tell someone I’ve loved them, but because
Her words have caught my eye, I’d not deny
That this is once the girl I most desire
But she was taken, hence my Soul’s a pyre (or my Fate’s a liar? [or my Life’s satire?!])
Still, as revenge for my past wrongs/transgression
With women, since forgive myself I’ll not
It is my duty to make firm concession
Exchanging gift for wound—some poems clot!
If she is not to be my lone possession
Then every year, I’ll keep her in my thought
And all the girls will come to tenderness
With these words that are mine to damsel-bless