After Thram But Before Fourdom

I wake up such a wellmade man
Go about my daily bread
With hardly a humger
Inside my head.

But come Fourdom
I’m climbing the rhyming walls
Picking scabs & noses
Jittered as a pillbug
Got these deliriums tremendous!

Casting about for anythink 
Everythink
To break the boredom of Four
Harbingeing that flat platitude nite
What lies ahead.

Candy is dandy
Yet likker is quikker;
I’m in the bottle 
& the bottle’s in me;
Taller smaller drink me dry
With more than just thine tiny eye;
Today is the son’s
Very merry unbirthday
& I am the son of the son of the Sun.

Pretty soon tis three a.m.
(pronounced thram by such a mottled mouth)
Which witching hour leaves me twitching
Fierce fearing for the fings I said
Much less did or diddunt do–
Heart a rabbiting its ribbone snare.

Somewhere in there
Perchance pours sleep
To dream of strings & sealing wax
& other fancy (?) stuff–

Until upon awakening
The mirror man say moy
It’s me, Ma,
& I’m bleeding
Missed to slit my throat
Whilst shaving
These pesky whiskers
Just grow back in
One’s chin.

Begin again.

Some stuff of nonsense, but not enuff to get hung about.