Gumby Having Coffee in His Studio

music changes everything (here,

hear?)

majors denuded to rubberized polyphonies

as he stretches verdurous limbs

opposed to adipose with a splash of creamer

elementally elementary in curvaceous matters of the kidney

(ah why don’t’cha ride on off on the orange horse ya went that’a’way with?)

another bitter crusade’s avant-garde adventure

the claymation’s in the motion

herky to all jerkies and bastions beyond

uplifted to a paunchier set of companions

mostly rainy to sun

in the dramatic arrays of self-denial and rerouted guilt

“This aide-mémoire is prêt-à-porter, you roué!”

he exclaims with groomed ankles crossed

“I am merely some trompe-l’œil of unfocused zest

brought hither though spines of disintegration’s dim deal.

I am not made of wax!

Some wiry waving conjecture with no fingers to speak of.

Have at me, closely.”

he sips mild and doomed